


A Wizard is Never Late

by CapeGooseberry



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Amputation, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Chronic Illness, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Flashbacks, Gen, Gold Sickness (Tolkien), Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Is this a kissing book?, Loneliness, M/M, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Permanent Injury, Pining, Poor Bilbo, Poor Thorin Oakenshield, Protective Gandalf, Slow Burn, Sorry Bilbo, Thorin Oakenshield Is a Disaster, Thorin redemption, Torture, Violence, Whump, a little don't get excited, attempted redemption, does it count if they spend most of the time apart, like a verrrry slow burning candle you forgot to put out, maybe? - Freeform, might add more later - Freeform, these tags are out of order btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapeGooseberry/pseuds/CapeGooseberry
Summary: Gandalf arrives late to the ‘negotiations’ between Thorin, Thranduil and Bard at the gates of Erebor. Events take a different course and Thorin must face the consequences of his actions for the rest of his life (however long or short that may be).Probably going to be Thorin/Bilbo – I have never written about romantic relationships but Thorin is very obviously smitten (need I say more than Mithril shirt?) and film Thorin is maybe even more so.This story will take it’s pick of aspects from the book, the films and fanon because I don’t remember enough details from the book (it’s been about a decade since I’ve read it!) but I am not a big fan of certain decisions made in the films.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Drogo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Dís & Thorin Oakenshield, Fíli & Kíli & Thorin Oakenshield, Gandalf | Mithrandir & Thorin Oakenshield, Thorin Oakenshield & Thorin's Company
Comments: 18
Kudos: 41





	1. Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! I've been working for this fic since February this year and I finally feel like I can start posting it. I've written most of it but expect irregular updates as the remainder is all the tricky parts!  
> (I am aware that Gandalf doesn't canonically make any tardy wizard comments until LoTR but I imagine it is the kind of thing he says ALL THE TIME and everyone is sick of hearing!
> 
> Most of this chapter is based of of the ramparts scene from battle of the five armies and you do not want to know how much time I have spent watching it, analysing microexpressions. I don't like that film on the whole but kudos to Richard Armitage for his performance as Thorin! 
> 
> Warnings in the end notes.

October TA 2941

The sight of the Arkenstone clasped in Bard’s grubby, soot-stained hand takes Thorin’s breath away. His first thought is wonder, for it is just as beautiful – no! Even more so than he remembered! All other jewels pale in comparison to the rainbows that scatter and bend in its mesmerising depths. It has been so long since he had witnessed beauty such as this, even the endless gems and gold of Erebor that had been so captivating not even an hour ago were now but a paltry imitation. Its radiance muddles his thoughts a little but Thorin realises then that everything he has done to get here, to be able to catch even a glimpse of his grandfather’s beloved treasure has been worth it and more. 

His second thought is heady relief that it has finally been found for a part of him had been beginning to wonder if Smaug had swallowed it and taken it to his lakebed grave. 

His third is to ponder how it came to be in Bard the Bowman’s possession. It is then that the blissful fuzziness morphs to alarm that this wonder, this dazzling stone with no equal, this… this gift from Mahal himself has somehow been removed from the mountain. It is inconceivable! There is no way that Smaug would have let the best item in his hoard go and since the foul beast’s death his company has been barricaded inside with no outsiders entering. If this had happened a day ago, before Bilbo had sweetly shown him his acorn from Beorn’s garden, then Thorin would have instantly accused one of his company of betraying him. Probably Nori. While Bilbo was the company’s official burglar, Nori was the one that he had truly suspected. He was infamous for not only his skill in his chosen profession but also the greyness of his morals and a magpie-like attraction to shiny things (even for a dwarf!). 

But his encounter with Bilbo, who had been second on his list of suspects, had made him reconsider. There had been no evidence that it had been stolen and besides they had only scratched the surface of Erebor’s hoard of gold. 

Thorin was reconsidering this now that he has been seemingly presented with the Arkenstone in enemy hands. He shied away from the thought, surely there must be some kind of other explanation? He thought of Gandalf’s conspicuous and continued absence and realised it must all be some kind of elaborate illusion! There was no other explanation. 

“They are taking us for fools!” he proclaimed to the company. 

“This is a ruse, A filthy lie!” he turned to look to Balin, hoping his most trusted advisor would agree but he only looked confused. Thorin had no time for hesitation and turned back to the army gathered outside the gates to Erebor. 

“The Arkenstone is in this mountain! It is a trick-” he was just beginning to gather steam to tell Thanduil exactly what he thought of this base deception when he was interrupted. 

“It is no trick” For a second Thorin couldn’t place who had spoken, only that it was one of his company but then he heard the distinctive near silent footfalls that could only be Bilbo’s as he came forward. He couldn’t bear to look at the halfling. He begged that he was hearing Bilbo wrong, that what he suspected wasn’t going to come to pass but his heart felt like it was freezing in his chest. 

Any lingering uncertainty about what Bilbo had done was torn away when the traitorous halfling said “The stone is real. I gave it to them.” 

And there it was. The Halfling had confessed to his treachery and all Thorin felt was disappointment. He was sure the rest would come soon, once the shock wore off but now all he felt was regret that he had yet again trusted the wrong people. Who would have thought innocent, innocuous Bilbo Baggins of the _blasted_ Shire with his fussiness and manners would be the one to sell him out. Thorin had only suspected him before because he was an outsider, he hadn’t earnestly believed Bilbo could be capable of this. He turned to look at his burglar… or should he call him Thranduil’s burglar now? 

“You…” That is all he can make himself say. 

_How pathetic, has the burglar also stolen your tongue, Thorin Oakenshield?_

Bilbo is unapologetic, utterly unrepentant as he stands his ground. “I took it as my fourteenth share” 

This display finally summons the anger Thorin had been expecting. It isn’t much yet but his temper has always been a fearsome thing once it has had time to build. “You would steal from me.” It is not a question but a vocalisation of his slow realisation of what Bilbo has done. 

“Steal from you?” The burglar has the nerve to _joke_! Bilbo looks like him as if he has just said something funny and he is expecting Thorin to laugh with him. Bilbo continues to speak and every word makes Thorin angrier “No. No. I may be a burglar but I like to think I am an honest one.” 

He pauses, beginning to look uncomfortable in the face of Thorin’s stony silence “I’m willing to let it stand against my claim.” 

And Thorin cannot take it anymore “Against your claim?” the words burst out of him incredulously. Bilbo is speaking as if they have only had a minor quarrel! Does this betrayal mean nothing to him? Did he pause to consider at all before he aided Thranduil? For that matter, for just how long have they been working together? The company had been imprisoned in the sorry excuse for a King’s halls for a long time – or maybe Bilbo had never been on Thorin’s side: his kind had a disturbing fondness for elves and he had been recruited by Gandalf. 

“Your claim.” His words are dripping with derision “You have no claim over me you miserable _little rat_!” 

He threw down the bow that he had aimed at Thranduil only a couple minutes before and advanced on the treacherous halfling. Bilbo quickly took a step back, his expression growing alarmed. 

When Bilbo spoke now he sounded scared. His voice broke a little and for a second Thorin was ashamed at himself for bullying the little creature before him, but then he remembered that his displeasure was more than earned and his discomfort turned to fury “I was going to give it to you. Many times I wanted to but…”

“But what _thief_?” he asked slowly, straining for control of his temper – though why he should do so escapes him. 

The fear on the halfling’s face receded and Bilbo’s expression hardened as his posture straightened “You are changed, Thorin.” His tone is stern and accusing, so unlike the mild-mannered creature he was familiar with. 

“The dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word!” Bilbo raises his voice and takes half a step forwards. All trace of fear is gone now and at this latest insult to his honour Thorin is _finished_. No one gets to speak to him like this, least of all this mere spoiled _rodent_! 

“Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!” Bilbo looks like he could quite happily go on insulting him but Thorin is unwilling to let himself be called disloyal by a traitor! 

A traitor. That was what Bilbo Baggins was now. It hadn’t fully sunk in until now but the revelation was another wound to his already crippled stone heart. Bilbo had betrayed him and now _dared_ to mention loyalty! 

“Do not speak to me of _loyalty_.” His words emerged quietly but with force and he could feel a prickle of tears forming. Tears! He hadn’t cried since the death of his mother when he was still a dwarfling! 

Thorin hated Bilbo for doing this to him, making him feel this way. He took several gasping breaths and stared at Bilbo’s wan face. He was looking down, refusing to meet Thorin’s gaze since receiving his condemnation and Thorin can’t see enough of his expression to tell what he is feeling. Thorin hopes he is ashamed and curses the part of him that is concerned for his burglar. It isn’t just Bilbo that disgusts him right now – his own sentimentality for the halfling is sickening! No one should be able to have such an effect on him! 

It was weakness! 

He needed the halfling gone! 

“Throw him from the rampart!” he yells the order and Bilbo looks up at him, shocked beyond words. His company don’t move, just stare back at him as if he has ordered their own executions and not that of the traitor. He turns to look at them all but they are frozen in place, looking more like statues rather than dwarves, save Ori who is trembling like a leaf and clutching the spear he has taken from the treasury spear tightly. 

“Do you not hear me!?” He cries but still no one moves. His gaze alights upon Fili, who is studiously avoiding looking at him. His heir should be jumping to carry out his orders, in fact Thorin cannot think of any previous occurrence of this strange reticence. His patience is short and in an instant he has grabbed Fili’s forearm. Fili will carry out his orders, he only needs a little encouragement! 

To Thorin’s shock Balin grabs onto Fili as well and pulls him away from Thorin but this show of rebellion only makes Thorin angrier and he yanks on his heir’s arm. Fili looks terrified. His sister-son violently pulls free of his grip and stumbles over to Balin. 

Thorin stares a moment longer. This was absurd, why won’t they obey him? 

He turned back to the traitor. It was no matter of course, as the proverb went – no better pick than your own! He would deal with Bilbo now and then turn his attentions to his company’s squeamishness. 

“I will do it myself!” Thorin was in front of the halfling in two steps and he grabbed him harshly by the lapels of his coat. The company immediately erupts into chaos, every member voicing their protest but most hanging back, unsure whether to intervene and Thorin hauls Bilbo towards the battlements. 

“No!” someone – possibly Fili? – cries and tries to pull him away from the edge but he shrugs them off easily. With a heave and a roar of “Curse you!” he lifts Bilbo half up onto the battlement wall. The halfling remains oddly still in his grasp, hands hovering close to where his clothing is bunched in Thorin’s grip but not trying to free himself. He is hyperventilating and all Thorin feels is irritation that Bilbo could cower like a rabbit when ultimately he had brought this upon himself. 

He hoists Bilbo further over the edge, ignoring the desperate cries from behind him. Dwalin tries to take the halfling from him and Thorin elbows him in the ribs, he has no time for their foolish protests. Bilbo is still staring up at him, his grey eyes wider than Thorin has ever seen before. In the past months he has seen Bilbo in all sorts of perilous and potentially traumatising situations and maybe it stings a little to know that of all that _he_ is the worst. The halfling was a jumpy, anxious creature at the best of times but surely Thorin was not more terrifying than a giant spider or a dragon? 

As he stared down at the Hobbit he realised that maybe he didn’t want to kill him after all – in his rage he hadn’t had a full explanation and surely there was some misguided reason for Bilbo’s treachery? Of course they would have to question the halfling at length and who knows what else he had told Thranduil! It was likely that he wouldn’t be done with the halfling for months and depending on what he said maybe execution wouldn’t be necessary? Of course some kind of punishment would be required but maybe he could just banish him or… Or what? Cut off his hands?! That was the usual punishment for serious thefts such as this, let alone the treason! He could argue that it technically wasn’t treason as Thorin had yet to have his coronation but who was he fooling, he didn’t want to hurt his burglar, let alone kill him. He had given a whole mithril mail shirt to him, of course he didn’t wish him harm! He might as well have given Bilbo a bunch of flowers and some soppy poetry like a lovesick elf and have done with it!! 

_But what about the gold? He has plotted against you with your enemies, he wants to force you to give it away!_

Thorin shook his head against the insidious voice in his head but couldn’t think of anything to prove it wrong. 

_You know it’s the gold OR bilbo. Stop trying to deny it, Oakenshield!_

He couldn’t. He screwed his eyes shut as if that would spare him from having to make a choice. He couldn’t possibly choose between them! He… He would decide later what to do with the thief, first he must deal with Thranduil and Bard. 

He turns his focus back to the ramparts. Bilbo was still hyperventilating and Thorin was honestly surprised he hadn’t fainted yet. He takes a deep breath and begins to pull the burglar’s weight back inside. After months of the most meagre of diets and much strenuous exercise Bilbo is as light as most dwarflings but Thorin has been on the same diet and since Smaug’s death he has eaten very little. King’s don’t have time to eat it turns out, and even when there is time he has had little appetite: preferring to spend mealtimes scouring the halls for the Arkenstone. He has been thinking for longer than he initially realised and holding up most of the hobbit’s weight as he did so when he moves his arms they feel like they have been engulfed in flames. He grunts but manages to maintain his grip. 

Bilbo looks utterly confused, torn between relief and expecting something worse and Thorin wants nothing more than to hug him – or punch him so maybe Bilbo’s trepidation isn’t unfounded. However, while Bilbo hangs over the edge he can do neither so he continues to pull him to safety. 

He is close, so _so_ close when his left hand cramps up. After that it is all over in an instant: his spasming hand releases its grip against his wishes and Bilbo’s full weight is being supported by his right. The worn fabric of Bilbo’s coat gives up at this final insult and with a loud ripping noise Bilbo is plummeting down. Bilbo shrieks and Thorin makes a grab for a trailing leg but his hand only closes around the halfling’s luxuriant, curling foot hair which does absolutely nothing to halt his fall. 

Thorin shouts and tries to reach further but it is far too late for that and Dwalin and Fili haul him back from the edge. 

He collapses to his knees and stares at the handful of Bilbo’s hair. It shines in the winter sunlight like strands of gold. 

Thorin shakes himself in disgust. He has just _killed_ someone, a friend even, and here he is admiring their hair because it looks like the treasure he has been obsessing over. And obsessing he has been: the golden haze that had tenderly wrapped around him since he entered the mountain was falling away and Thorin was suddenly disgusted with himself. For all he had promised to never be like his grandfather he had succumbed to gold sickness even easier! Thror had at least gradually become the greedy, cruel ruler that had attracted Smaug but all it had taken Thorin was one look at the hoard and he had been ensnared. How weak. 

“What have I done?” he muttered to himself. The raven crown is weighing down on his head. It feels like he is being crushed under its weight and he cannot stand to wear it any longer. It has been worn by generations of Durin’s line, each greedier and madder than those before them. It has become naught but a symbol for the slow descent of his people! He pulls it off and with a shout flings it at the floor. The crown is made of obsidian and pure gold and is not meant to be treated harshly. The gold bends and dents while the obsidian shatters and Thorin feels a little freer. 

The company is giving him a wide berth, many looking down at the ground below. Thorin was suddenly overcome with a morbid curiosity. It is unlikely Bilbo survived so far a drop but how did the fall kill him? It is only right that he face what he has just done. He totters to his feet and approaches the ramparts once more. Balin approaches him and gently tries to stop him. 

“Step aside, Balin. I need to see.” He commands shakily. 

He smiles sadly “I don’t think you do, laddie.” he shakes his head when Thorin continues toward his goal but doesn’t make any further attempts to stop him. Balin had always been able to identify a futile endeavour when he saw one. 

Thorin looked down at the results of his actions and it was all he could do to stand his ground. It would be a disservice to Bilbo to look away from what his weaknesses had wrought, despite how it turned his stomach to see the red stains that stood out shockingly against the pale stone of the lonely mountain. It appeared that Bilbo had hit the highest point of the head of the statue Thorin had ordered collapsed to block off the entrance and then rolled down. He had come to rest at the end of the bloody trail, half submerged in the water and completely still save for his ragged breathing. Thorin wasn’t sure where he was bleeding from as he could see no obvious wounds, save for one of his arms which was grotesquely broken. 

The elves had remained standing impassively but Bard leapt from the saddle and sprinted to the water without a second thought. Bilbo lived for now but only his head and the right side of his torso remained above the water and the hobbit was in no condition to swim. Bard plunged into the water with a loud splash and quickly swam to Bilbo’s side. He says something to Bilbo but Thorin is too far away to hear or read his lips and Bilbo weakly turns his head to look at him. Bilbo is awake! Thorin is thrilled and for a second he wonders if Hobbits simply bounce when dropped but then Bilbo is screaming and he knows that not to be the case. The heavy feeling of sickness in his stomach is suddenly more than Thorin can deal with and he bends over to vomit – though there is scarce little other than stomach acid that comes up. 

“Thorin…” Balin is patting him on the back soothingly but it only makes Thorin feel worse “Maybe you should go rest, lad.” 

“I am fine.” He hears himself grind out between clenched teeth “The sickness has departed and I must now make amends for the wrongs I have committed these past weeks!” he straightens and looks Balin in the eye sternly. 

“Aye” is all Balin says, his voice a choked mixture of pride and sorrow, before he steps back next to his brother. 

Sounds of some kind of commotion down below drew everyone’s attention. Thorin spotted a distinctive grey pointed hat approaching through the crowd at speed and grimaced. _‘A wizard is never late’_ indeed! Bard has gathered Bilbo up in his arms and was slowly swimming back across the moat, careful to keep the hobbit’s face above the surface. Gandalf knelt by the water’s edge, arms held out to accept his burglar. 

“I’m going down.” Thorin announces and the company scurries to find a way down. Bofur sheepishly produces a coil of rope that is already tied to a ring in the wall. He had known of Bilbo’s treachery! Thorin is angry for a second but then he remembers that Bilbo had only been acting in the interests of peace and instead accepts the rope neutrally. 

Before he leaves Erebor he turns to his cousins “Dwalin, come with me. Balin, you’re in charge while I’m gone. Find what we owe the people of Laketown” he sighed heavily “…and Thranduil.” 

Balin nodded gravely “Good luck Thorin.” 

He nodded jerkily in return. He was going to need all the good fortune he could get having wronged a wizard. Gandalf could ruin him and his line if he so wished and even if the wizard didn’t act against him there was always Thranduil who already hated him and Bard was fond of Bilbo. Another scream echoes off the mountain and Thorin is very much inclined to believe he won’t be making it out of this alive. 

With that in mind he approached his sister-sons. “Fili, Kili. In case I don’t return I want you both to know that I…” Thorin cursed his cowardice. Why was it so difficult to tell the boys that he valued them both? “I could not hope for better heirs.” 

Fili nodded seriously, not expecting anything more personal from a lifetime of training for the throne but Kili was unused to such cold praise and looked lost. He kicked himself at the wording. They were both still so young and they deserved to receive the approval of their elders when they had done so well. 

“I am proud of you both.” There that was slightly better, Kili smiled a little and Fili’s features softened marginally. Thorin gently knocked heads with both and then strode purposefully to the rope. 

The journey down the wall was difficult as Thorin lacked the strength to hold up his weight by the arms and the second half of the descent was a barely controlled slide that left rope burn on his hands. Dwalin climbed down significantly more gracefully and they approached the gathering by the water’s edge. 

As he and Dwalin arrived several elves were leaving, Bilbo carefully cradled in a litter between them. Thorin caught a glance of the hobbit as they departed, nothing more than a flash of pallid skin and bandages and he hoped once more that his faults wouldn’t lead to Bilbo’s death. 

“What are you doing here, _King under the Mountain_?” Bard asked with uncharacteristic vitriol when he spotted them “Have you not done enough already or are you here to finish the job?” 

Thorin wanted to snap back, maybe say something even worse and start a fight but Bard wasn’t the one here that was in the wrong. “I have come because I realised I have wronged you all. It is my actions that lead to the deaths of so many of your people, Lord Bard and then when you came to me for aid and to fulfil my promises I turned you away as if I fancied myself Smaug’s replacement. You have my most sincere apologies.” It went against his nature to apologise and Thorin was sure he did an awful job but it was undoubtedly the best apology he had ever given to date. When he had finished speaking he knelt in front of Bard and bowed his head in supplication, ignoring Dwalin’s shocked gasp. Thorin had _never_ bowed to anyone in his life – none of his line had – and he felt horribly vulnerable. 

“You had best value this sight, Bard” Thranduil’s oily voice made him flinch “You are not likely to see anything like it. Dwarves are too proud to bow to anyone, and their Kings are even worse!” Thorin wished to leap to his feet and tell Thranduil exactly what he thought but he held back. The one advantage of this position was that he didn’t have to see the elf King’s revolting face! 

“Despite how poor relations between our kingdoms have been of late I would wish for peace between us. As we speak my company are gathering what you are owed. You will have your gold and you may keep the Arkenstone as a gesture of our good will towards the men of Dale.” 

“Thank you…” Bard sounded somewhat confused and Thorin felt a hand on his shoulder “please get up, Thorin. I cannot forgive you for what you have done today but I have no intentions of holding that against your people.” 

Thorin stood up quickly only to find himself eye level with the Arkenstone. 

“Are you sure you don’t want it back?” Bard asked “I understand it is an artefact of great importance to your family?” 

_Take it! It is the most precious of Erebor’s treasures, it BELONGS in the mountain!_

The stone was so much more beautiful up close. The colours were more vibrant and it seemed to glow brighter. Thorin could quite willingly lose himself staring into its depths for hours – no days! 

Thorin watched his hand move towards the stone seemingly on its own before he regained his wits and staggered away from it with a cry. “I don’t care what you do with the blasted thing – give it away, chuck it in the lake for all I care but keep that cursed rock _away_ from me! Please!” 

Bard looked deeply disturbed but returned the stone to his pocket. 

Thranduil laughed cruelly from the side “Gold sickness, of course! The line of Durin can’t seem to get over their obsessive love of metals and precious stones. Generation after generation you all make the same mistakes!” 

Thorin ignored Thranduil’s insults and took a deep breath, this was going to be painful to say. “I would have peace with you also, Thranduil. Before I had experienced gold sickness myself I doubted your claim of Thror’s theft from you but now I understand. It is not just Dale’s riches that my company are searching for.” 

He had kept his face carefully neutral throughout his speech. It was distasteful being polite to Thranduil but his people’s pride only seemed to make enemies. Of course, it was all worth it for Thranduil’s shocked expression! The elf king was utterly lost for words and opened and closed his mouth like a fish for the next five minutes. Dwalin’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. 

All levity from seeing an immortal flabbergasted was gone when Thorin heard an angry shout of his name. He looked up and saw that Gandalf was rapidly approaching, staff brandished in one hand and the other rested upon Glamdring’s hilt. That itself wasn’t anything unusual but there was no trace of his usual kindly old man act. 

“THORIN OAKENSHIELD!” he roared at a volume that no one other than a wizard would be capable of. Everyone nearby held their hands over their ears tightly and Thorin was surprised he didn’t start a rockslide. “Would you care to explain yourself!” 

“I shall take my leave” Bard said politely but with a distinct undertone of grim satisfaction “It appears you have much to discuss with Gandalf.” 

“As shall I” Thranduil agreed with a nasty smirk – it seemed he had regained use of his tongue at last then. 

They departed hastily and even Dwalin retreated a fair distance so when Gandalf halted before him it was just the two of them. There were splashes of fresh blood on Gandalf’s robes and once he noticed Thorin found he couldn’t look away from them. 

“How is Bilbo?” he asked tentatively. 

Gandalf stiffened unnaturally and just looked at Thorin. It was only a second or two of eye contact but it was more than enough. Thorin had always known that were was more to Gandalf than what was easily seen – his father and grandfather both had told him all about wizards and how best to deal with them far before he had reached adulthood – but that was different from seeing the otherworldliness shining ominously in his eyes. Thorin felt small, a surprisingly unusual occurrence as while he may be shorter than elves and men he was tall for a dwarf and sure enough of his abilities and status that any difference in height didn’t bother him. Now though it felt like every long-buried prey instinct was screaming at him to run and hide and to _never_ show his face before Gandalf the Grey ever again. He was trembling he realised, Gandalf was leaning over him now and it was all he could do to remain standing. 

Gandalf sighed heavily to himself “What am I going to do with you, Thorin? I don’t think anyone has ever had the _audacity_ to do something like this before. Usually when someone is under _my protection_ fools like yourself leave well alone but you always have enjoyed playing with fire” Thorin can see the monstrous light of dragon fire reflected in Gandalf’s eyes and he shudders violently. The day has darkened significantly, or maybe Gandalf has made it so. Thorin cannot tell he only wants to be far, far away from here. 

“I could do all sorts of terrible, awful things to you, Thorin. It would cost me greatly to do so but for Bilbo I would be quite willing. It is fortunate for both our sakes that we are on the same side and that you are currently irreplaceable. If Bilbo dies from this you can be sure that you won’t live for much longer, you have _no right_ to ask after his health as if he had caught a simple cold. This is _your_ fault Thorin and you would do well to remember it!” There is a curious smothering heat radiating off the Wizard and Thorin is abruptly reminded of Gandalf’s affinity for fire… and that while Dwarves are resistant to flames they can still burn very well if the fire is strong enough. 

“I am sorry.” He dared to whisper. “I _know_ I can never redeem myself but I really am sorry for what I did today.” 

“Of course you are you foolish, _foolish_ dwarf.” The heat died down a little and Gandalf sounded more like his usual self again but Thorin still didn’t dare look him in the eye. 

A loud cawing brought Thorin’s scolding to a premature end as one of the messenger ravens had returned. Thorin held his arm out for the raven to land, which it did in a flurry of wings. 

“Orcs! Orcs approaching from the west!!” it shrieked at the top of its voice. 

“What?” Thorin asked incredulously. 

“Ah it appears we have less time than I thought” Gandalf mused, even though Thorin was fairly certain he was not able to speak to the ravens. “Come, we must gather the others for a war council!” 


	2. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses on the immediate aftermath of the battle of the five armies (I copied Tolkien and skipped over much of the actual battle because no thank you!). In this AU Azog was killed by Dain at Azanulbizar as in the original lore and instead we have his son, Bolg, wanting revenge - which to me makes so much more sense (at least to me???) than what Peter Jackson did and is closer to original canon. Also that whole ravenhill signaling tower thing in the film is gone and we are sticking with the book geography because I really hated that part of the film. One last note is that I have adopted a lot of the dwarven customs head canons that are prevalent in the fandom - in particular dwarven hair cutting practices (and lack thereof) and in this case the relationship of this with grief as well as some of the hcs about Thorin's company that aren't well fleshed out. 
> 
> Can I just say that Thorin is veryyyy hard to write? Like am I just projecting onto him when I say that he cares but doesn't know how to show it? Probably a bit?? 
> 
> Warnings for amputation, semi-graphic mentions of violent, a character having poor mental health, uh I've probably missed something...
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

October TA 2941

Thorin hits the ground with a pained grunt. It must have been the fifth time in the last hour that he had found himself in the mud and gore of the battlefield and he is seriously risking contaminating his wounds but he isn’t willing to give up just yet. He sits up and groans when his head begins to pound. 

“Thorin, you need to stop” Dwalin hobbles to his side, he hasn’t complained but his hands are clenched tightly around his crutches and he is unusually pale “None of us are in a state to continue looking today.” Thorin looks around at those of the company that were well enough to help him search. Ori was the one in the best shape with only a few scrapes and a spectacular broken nose, Dori having kept him safe in the battle that had torn through the valley the day before. There is little trace of the nervous lad that had left Ered Luin, even the slingshot had been exchanged for a battle-axe almost as large as he was. Dori is leant against his little brother heavily and _really_ he should have remained with the healers but by that logic Thorin should have remained behind also, so he hadn’t protested. Gloin was also in relatively good health, only receiving a cracked rib and a lacerated shoulder and overall in as good fettle as could be hoped after the last couple days. Bofur was the final member of their little search party and while he was also only lightly injured but was handling the aftermath of the battle poorly. The poor lad was as pale as fresh snow and grimmer than Thorin had ever seen. While he had insisted on accompanying them he was obviously anxious to return to his injured brother and cousin. 

As for Thorin himself he has lost an eye and his right hand is heavily bandaged and splinted from a stab wound through the palm, though it is his bruised ribs that are currently troubling him the most. His injuries are not particularly life threatening but they are certainly life changing. His depth perception is gone and he cannot walk without tripping over even the slightest obstacle. He has collided with the others countless times when he misjudged how far away they were, or sometimes didn’t see them at all when they were on his blind side, although everyone has so far been good enough to overlook it. 

He sighs. It is foolish of them to search: the battle was over a day ago, there is almost no hope of finding Nori alive. Not that he is eager to point that out. They have been searching since lunch and now the light is beginning to fade. As their search progressed Ori and Dori have gradually become more withdrawn and Thorin worries for them as well as their brother. They had started in the area Nori had last been seen and headed away from the mountain. Most of the fallen from the victorious armies of elves, men and dwarves have already been taken elsewhere so it is only the remains of orcs and goblins and wargs that remain but it still makes the footing treacherous. 

Dwalin steps closer and nudges Thorin with a crutch “Come on, Thorin. You’ve looked for him and now it’s time we went back. It wouldn’t do for our King to die now because he tripped and fell on a sword.” Thorin realises he has been kneeling in the dirt for some minutes and makes to struggle to his feet. His limbs feel like they have been fixed to the ground and he only manages to press himself further into the mud. When it becomes apparent that he isn’t going to be getting up again on his own, Bofur and Gloin heave him to his feet and they slowly trudge back to the mountain. 

They are lucky enough that a passing human gives them a ride in his cart but by the time they return it is fully dark. At some point in the cart ride Thorin’s strength seems to have been stolen from him and he can barely hold himself upright. Luckily it isn’t far to the room he and his sister-sons are staying in and with the help of one of the guards at the gate he is soon being laid down on his bed. Thorin wants to check on the boys before he sleeps but finds he lacks the energy to do so. Someone is unlacing his heavy boots and removing the muddy outer layers of his clothes before pulling the blankets over him and it is so comfortable he can’t keep his eyes open any longer. 

He hears Dwalin make some kind of teasing comment about his advanced years and he tries to swat at him but between his exhaustion and his wounds he misses and only hits the mattress. 

“Rest well, you silly fool.” Dwalin says with a gruff kindness once he has finished laughing at his expense. Thorin grumbles a little but he is asleep before he can reply. 

* * *

October TA 2941

The next morning Thorin hurts even worse than he did the day before. He sits up and clenches his teeth tightly as he gasps for breath. He hears a quiet sniffle and turns towards the other two beds in the room. Fili still lies uncannily still, deep in a coma that Oin is unsure he will return from, but Kili is awake and at his brother’s side. His tangled hair hangs limply over his face so Thorin cannot see his expression but he is clutching Fili’s hand in his. Thorin tries to avoid looking at the stump of his right arm. 

“Kili?” he tries his hardest to speak gently but the lad still startles. 

“Uncle! You’re awake!” Kili’s face lights up and Thorin feels the corners of his mouth turn up a little. Neither of them acknowledge the redness around Kili’s eyes. 

“Indeed.” He stands and hirples painfully over to his sister-sons and sits by Kili. He is struck by how young they both are, which is odd as Thorin had his first battle when he was only 53 and yet he quails at his considerably older sister-sons facing the same ordeal. They will never be quite the same he knows, even if Fili does wake up. Thorin can’t bear to think of the possibility of Fili dying, his mind shies away from the concept and it makes him feel ill but Fili is currently beyond his help so he focuses on Kili instead. It is Kili who he must comfort now, though how he is supposed to do that escapes him. 

“How are you?” he asks eventually but Kili has no chance to reply as there is angry shouting and the sound of a struggle outside. 

“Stay here!” Thorin commands and leaps off the bed and charges into the corridor. He is expecting some kind of attack – maybe even treachery from one of their new allies – but all he sees are members of his company. Bifur is struggling in Bofur’s arms as Ori stands a few feet away by a part way open door, a nasty cut on his chin and his already meagre beard now lopsided. A small knife lies abandoned on the ground between a tearful Ori and the other two. Thorin approaches them and tries to figure out what had happened. 

While Bifur had been injured in the battle, the main reason he had been confined to the healer’s halls was that experiencing another battle had taken him back to the confused state he had been found in the aftermath of Azanulbizar all those decades ago. Thorin hadn’t been there when the others had found Bifur on the battlefield but he had overheard Bofur telling Oin afterwards that he hadn’t recognised him and had almost attacked his own cousin. Given this knowledge Thorin’s first thought is that Bifur had attacked Ori over a misunderstanding of some sort. Thorin didn’t speak the particular dialect of Khuzdul that Bifur did (it was below his station to even acknowledge the existence of any other form of their sacred language), but he understood pieces. Enough to tell that the situation wasn’t what he had initially assumed for while Bifur’s rough voice sounded aggressive he was shouting something about hope? 

Bifur elbowed Bofur hard in the face and he stumbled backwards while Bifur approached Ori, purposefully kicking the knife away from them both. Ori didn’t move from where he stood. He was obviously terrified at having woken Bifur’s wrath but he also looked ashamed. Bifur’s hands flashed between inglishmek signs almost too fast for Thorin to follow. 

“How could you give up so soon?!” he signed, each movement jagged with fury. 

“It has only been two days and you just decide he must be dead. No one saw what happened, there’s no body so you can’t give up yet!” 

Ori flinched and looked away. 

“Bofur and Bombur didn’t know what happened for weeks when… when this happened” he pointed angrily at the axe blade in his forehead “but they never gave up on me! When I returned it wasn’t to shaven faces. You disgust me!” Thorin glances at Bofur who has recovered somewhat from the blow and in a rare moment of perceptiveness sees the guilt on his face. Thorin feels his mouth pull into a scowl. 

Bifur turns and storms out, grabbing one of the guard’s spears as he goes. He snarls something in his odd Khuzdul dialect back at them but this time he doesn’t catch it. 

“What did he say?” he asks Bofur. 

“Bifur says he’s going to find Nori” Bofur replied numbly “I should go with him…” he trails off and looks uncertain. Bombur was one of the worst injured of the company and added to that his wounds had become infected and he required someone monitor his constantly. Besides, Bofur looks like he hasn’t slept since the battle and is clearly exhausted. 

“No, stay. I’ll send some of Dain’s lot with him.” He pats him on the shoulder in an attempt at comfort and looks back to Ori. At some point Dori has arrived and is fussing over Ori. The lad is now crying and Thorin considers going over to talk to the pair but he is painfully conscious of his own close cut beard and decides it that he isn’t the one to talk to Ori. His own grief had been for the state of his people and the countless fallen after Smaug and Azanulbizar but he isn’t about to go tell anyone that his suffering is more worthy than theirs. Instead he approaches the group of guards that is skulking uncertainly further down the corridor. 

“Follow Bifur and assist him if he needs it but keep your distance otherwise” he orders. 

They bow respectfully and leave, not running but moving swiftly though the busy passageways. He turns back to Bofur and finds he is still standing numbly in the middle of the corridor. 

He grasps Bofur’s elbow and leads him into the room Thorin is sharing with his sister-sons “Rest.” He says and shoves Bofur gently towards his empty cot. Kili watches from his position at Fili’s side with interest but remains silent. 

Bofur snaps out of his daze somewhat and protests “Oh! I couldn’t take your bed from you, Thorin!” 

“You can and will” he says grumpily and pushes him again, ignoring how the movement pains him “I’m not going to be in need of it for some hours and you very obviously are in need of rest.” 

“I need to watch Bombur!” 

“ _I_ can watch Bombur!” he snaps back exasperatedly. 

“But you’re the king… surely you have better things to be doing?” Thorin blinks at this. He has never been the sort to claim that any sort of task was beneath him – before Smaug he had been apprenticed to a silversmith but there was little demand for work of that nature in the blue mountains so he had spent most of his exile as a travelling blacksmith (of mediocre skill by dwarvish standards) and, when he decided to stay in Ered Luin, a miner (a perfectly respectable profession for most dwarves, but certainly not for a king!). He had even done menial work around the farms at human settlements when work had been particularly scarce! He had done whatever was necessary, no matter how ‘beneath him’ others might consider it. Most of the nobles of his people thought him far too eager to set aside his dignity but they still had treasures left over from Erebor to tide them through rough times when his family had sold theirs to feed not only themselves but also those less fortunate. He shook himself from the memories of those years of near constant hunger and weariness. Now that Erebor was reclaimed no one would have to live in poverty! 

He supposes Bofur doesn’t actually know him terribly well – they never spent much time together without others during or before the quest. He had been vaguely aware of him from his time as a miner but they had certainly not known each other before they departed from Ered Luin. Thorin had never managed to figure out exactly why Bifur, Bofur and Bombur had come in the first place. They were not of Durin’s Folk, they hadn’t known anyone else in the company particularly well before the quest and they seemed very intimidated by Thorin himself. He had not enquired too closely as he had been sorely in need of them. 

“A king’s job is to protect and aid their subjects to the best of their abilities.” He says solemnly and Bofur finally realises his protests are futile and removes his boots before laying himself down on the cot. Barely a minute later the sound of soft snores is filling the air. 

“I had better go watch Bombur then.” Thorin says to Kili “Are you alright to stay here on your own?” 

Kili makes a face that Thorin doesn’t understand and he is unsure whether to stay or not. Whenever he looks at Kili he feels immensely guilty – he had done what he had to so save him but the price had been steep. 

“I’m not a child anymore, Uncle!” he says indignantly at last “Go check on the others, I want to know how they are.” he waved his remaining hand dismissively. 

“Right,” Thorin said, his mouth strangely dry and his chest feeling tight. He managed to leave the room before the weakness in his legs becomes too much and he leans heavily against the wall. The corridor is less busy than before, Dori and Ori have left and there are no gaping spectators. He is sure it is quieter too but all he can hear is the ring of metal against metal and the screams of the wounded. 

_Thorin stabs an orc in the gut and spares a glance to check up on his company. They are cut off from Dain’s forces and backed up to the steep shale-covered slopes and cliffs below the Ravenhill in a defensive manoeuvre. There were twenty or so of Bard’s people with them too, armed with dwarven weapons after Thorin had seen the state of the weapons that had been retrieved from Laketown and scavenged from the ruins of Dale. Kili was perched slightly uphill of the rest of the group, picking off orcs with a bow he had taken from a dead elf and arrows scavenged from both sides. Thorin was rallying his small force when he heard a rumble from the cliffs behind them._

_“Rockslide!” Dwalin roared and they all scattered. Tonnes of stone thundered down the slope and buried the orcs and goblins that had surged forwards when they had taken cover. Initially Thorin thought that it had been a fluke but then he saw the figures of orcs at the top._

_“Kili! Shoot them!!” he gestured at the foul creatures but heard no cheery acknowledgement or whistle of arrows._

_“Kili?” Thorin turned his gaze back to ground level and searched for his sister-son. The splintered remains of the elven bow poked up crookedly from the rockslide and Thorin heard himself gasp for air._

_He scrambled over the rough ground on shaky legs. A pair of sturdy dwarvish boots come into view and Thorin speeds up. Kili has somehow survived and is only bruised and scraped, save from his arm which is trapped – crushed – beneath a boulder that probably weighs the same as five dwarves._

_“Help! Uncle, please!” Kili begs and Thorin feels his heart constrict painfully._

_He hears a loud gasp and turns to see that Fili and Dwalin have arrived. “Kili!” Fili cries and rushes to his brother’s side. He gently pushes Kili’s face away from where he has been staring at the trapped limb. Kili’s face is bone pale and a trickle of dark blood rolls from his mouth, though Thorin expects it is from him biting his tongue or the inside of his cheek. Thorin hears the cackling of the orcs at the top of the slope but before he can think of how to deal with them Fili has left Kili’s side and is racing up the treacherous slope roaring a battle cry._

_“Fili! Get back, It’s not safe!” Dwalin shouts, for not only is there a chance that Fili’s weight will cause another rockslide but the orcs are already rolling more boulders towards the edge. Fili ignores them and continues his sprint, his fate is in his own hands now and Thorin realises that if he doesn’t act soon then Kili will likely also perish. If the rocks shift even a little it won’t just be Kili’s arm that is crushed. Thorin knows that there is no way they will be able to lift the boulder – it would take much more equipment, people and time than his sister-son has and even then Kili’s arm is likely too badly damaged to ever recover. He reluctantly removes his belt and winds it three times around the bicep of Kili’s trapped arm before pulling it tight. Kili groans but clearly doesn’t understand what Thorin is about to do to him. He fastens the belt once it is as tight as he can make it and turns to Dwalin._

_“Give me your axe. Quickly!” he reaches a hand out pleadingly. Fili is almost at the top and the orcs are releasing the boulders. Dwalin hands Thorin his axe without a word, his expression is grim but neither approving nor disapproving. There is a shout from the top of the slope and Thorin looks up in time to see Fili disappear under the rocks. He almost allows himself to be caught up in the despair that accompanies the sight but Kili’s survival depends upon him. He raises the axe high and hopes it is sharp enough to do the deed in one blow. Kili finally catches on and begins to beg. The rumble of the rocks is almost upon them and Thorin lets the axe fall._

_Kili screams but he is given no time to cope with the loss. Dwalin scoops him up and they dash out of the path of the second rockslide. The dust begins to settle and it appears the orcs at the top of the ravenhill have run out of ammunition as after heckling them for a minute they lose interest and move away. Dwalin carefully transfers Kili to Thorin’s arms and accepts his bloody axe back. Despite the improvised tourniquet Kili is losing blood faster than Thorin is comfortable with. They need to find a healer soon to tend to the wound._

_“I’ll go look for Fili.” He says gruffly and sets off up the hill._

_Thorin turns back to the remainder of his forces. “Upon my mark we make for the mountain!” Those that have turned to look at him go pale at the sight of Kili bleeding out in his arms but they do not falter and there is a mixture of shouts of acknowledgement in Westron and Khuzdul._

_“Uncle…” Kili’s whisper cuts through all the cacophony of the battle._

_“Yes Kili, I’m here.” He brushes his sister-son’s near-matted hair back from his face. Silly boy never learned how to properly use a comb! He snorts a little hysterically and frantically tries to hold his composure together. He has just maimed Kili! First he had almost murdered Bilbo and now he had crippled one of his own family. Kili was barely out of childhood, he had only been allowed to come along because Fili was going and Dis had made him promise to keep her boys safe. A fine job he’d done there! He can feel Kili’s blood dripping down his face and he wants to just fall apart then and there but they need him._

_“Where is Fili?” Kili asks hazily. Thorin is screaming inside, how is he supposed to explain to Kili that his brother has most likely been crushed to a fine paste while on a blind quest for vengeance?_

_“He.” His voice wavers treacherously and he pauses to settle his breathing “He isn’t here right now.” Every word is a fight to get out, the deception foul on his tongue._

_“He was here just a minute ago” Kili frowns at him confusedly._

_“Don’t you worry about him” he soothes and Kili’s eyes close a little as he relaxes, questions forgotten in the face of his blind trust in Thorin. Thorin hates himself for the deception but the necessity of it all makes him remain silent. Kili didn’t see Fili fall and to tell him now would risk the shock killing him._

_There was a clattering, rumbling noise as the shale slope shifted and Thorin looked uphill in horror-_

“Thorin?” He feels a hand on his shoulder and he almost falls for a second only to feel large hands steady him. He blinks and looks up at Gandalf. 

“Is everything alright Thorin?” Gandalf asks as he steps back a little. 

Thorin is deeply embarrassed being seen in such a vulnerable state – it is most unseemly to show weakness to outsiders! He mumbles his thanks awkwardly, but Gandalf seems to have overcome some of his previous (very much warranted) animosity and doesn’t immediately snub him as Thorin was expecting. Neither of them know what to say for a minute and then, because Thorin just has to put his foot in it he asks. 

“May I ask how Bilbo fares?” he tries to not sound desperate. Even if he wasn’t explicitly forbidden from visiting he wouldn’t dare. It would do Bilbo no good at all to see him, no matter how desperate he was to apologise. A more cowardly part of him doesn’t want to know how badly he has injured Bilbo. 

Gandalf frowns and some of the hostility returns. 

“He is expected to live but the elves are unsure how full a recovery he will make. Hobbits are not well adapted to falling, in fact most are too terrified of heights to venture far from the ground and their bones are much softer than a dwarf’s, but he has had the best care available on this side of the misty mountains. Once he is well enough to travel I will take him to Thranduil’s realm for the rest of the winter. I think Bilbo will have had quite enough of dwarves after this fiasco!” 

Thorin nodded stiffly. 

“Very well. If anyone can keep him safe it is you, Gandalf.” He said seriously. Gandalf made a harrumphing noise. 

“I hope, Thorin.” His tone became threatening once more “That you understand that if you _ever_ approach Bilbo or have any involvement with him that he has not asked for or sought out you will come to regret it.” 

“I understand” Thorin says miserably before taking his leave of Gandalf to check up on the others in the company that he hadn’t just been forbidden from seeing. 

Oin had never taken part in the battle and had spent the time safe in the mountain, tending to the ever-increasing influx of the wounded. He was currently tending to one of the soldiers from the Ironhills, Gloin dutifully carrying his equipment. Dori was resting in another room further along. He looked pale, his skin as white as his hair and his face slightly pinched from pain. Dori had received a nasty stab in the leg and a slice across his chest that had left him weak with blood loss, though this had certainly not been helped by the exertions of the day before. He appeared to be dozing currently and Ori was sat by his bed, writing in a notebook. The cut on his face from the earlier confrontation had been stitched closed and the blood washed away. Neither of the brothers noticed him and Thorin made sure to leave quietly. Next Thorin visited Balin and Dwalin. Balin had taken a nasty knock to the head and had spent much of the battle being trampled under the feet of friend and enemy alike. He was exceedingly lucky to have survived although he was badly concussed and had a multitude of fractured and cracked bones. He didn’t move when Thorin entered, although the lack of light in the room made it difficult to tell if he was asleep. Dwalin was undeniably awake though. His eyes gleamed in the semi-darkness and he was sat up on the other bed, crutches propped up neatly by his side. Thorin owed much to Dwalin for keeping his sister-sons safe. 

When Bolg, the leader of the horde of foul beasts they had fought, and his lieutenants had cornered them on their desperate charge through the battlefield Dwalin had taken Fili and Kili and attempted to get them to safety. Thorin had initially had no idea who the orc chieftain was but Bolg had spotted the oak branch Thorin still carried and his ugly, misshapen face had broken into a smile. 

Bolg had taken great glee in introducing himself and asked Thorin about the state of his family – for Bolg wanted retribution for his father, Azog’s death all those years ago at Dain’s hands during the Battle of Azanulbizar and wanted to know how many of Durin’s line he needed to eradicate. Thorin had not answered him but it was impossible to deny the resemblance between himself and Kili, who was still cradled in his arms. Thorin had passed Kili to Dwalin then and had bade he make haste for the mountain. Thorin had fought Bolg with every ounce of viciousness and skill that desperation granted him, not realising that Bolg had sent most of his lieutenants after Dwalin and the others. Bolg had taken his eye and pinned Thorin by a knife through his hand when he saw a warg slam into Dwalin from behind, its teeth closing around his leg and shaking him mercilessly but Dwalin kept Fili and Kili held close to his chest. The sight had roused Thorin enough from the shock that had been stealing over him that he had been able to aid Bard of Laketown in slaying Bolg and then he killed Warg that had been savaging Dwalin in a haze of battle rage and protectiveness. It was only when the eagles arrived and the battle was won that Thorin came back to himself. 

“How are you?” Thorin asked. 

Dwalin grunted grumpily “Balin was awake earlier, he’s under the delusion that he’s healthy enough to get back to work.” Thorin held back the urge to snort. Dwalin then asked about the confrontation earlier and Thorin told him of Bifur’s departure. He hummed thoughtfully and didn’t say anything else but Dwalin had always been a dwarf of few words so Thorin left him to his thoughts and checked on the last of his company. 

Bombur lay alone in a small room in a fevered sleep, a damp cloth half on his forehead. The other bed lay empty – presumably it had been Bifur’s. 

Thorin settled himself on the low stool by the bed and straightened the cloth. 

Bombur stirred a little at the touch but didn’t wake so Thorin made himself comfortable for the long wait ahead. The rhythm of exchanging the sodden rags was simple and became mildly soporific. He didn’t fall asleep but it could not be said that he was fully alert and awake when he was unexpectedly disturbed from his trance. 

“Uncle” he turned to see Kili enter the room. Thorin took a moment to regain his bearings while Kili sat on the unoccupied bed. 

“I got sick of listening Bofur’s snoring so I decided to stretch my legs.” he said defensively. 

“He does snore impressively loudly.” Thorin nodded and tried to smile but kept his eyes fixed on Bombur. 

“I’m surprised we can’t hear him from here.” Kili attempts to joke but neither of them laugh. Silence falls heavily between them, as permeable as a cave in. 

“Kili… I…” he attempts before trailing off when he realised he doesn’t know what to say. What he did to Kili he did to save him but what kind of dwarf cripples their own sister-son? An apology would be trite but he has scarce little to offer. All he has been able to do lately is apologise! His ancestors must be cursing him for bringing their line so low. 

“What, Uncle!?” Kili eventually snapped “I thought I would keep you company but if you are so embarrassed by me I might as well leave!” he rose swiftly and Thorin heard a sharp pained inhale before he marched for the door. 

“No! Kili wait!” Thorin turned and caught a handful of his tunic as he passed. Kili halted reluctantly but didn’t yank free. 

“I could never be embarrassed of you, Kili! Whatever made you think that?” Thorin said as softly as he dared. He tosses aside his shame and looks Kili in the eyes. 

“Since the battle you can barely look at me and I fought so badly. Fili and Dwalin are injured because of me! Fili still might die, and then I’d have to be your heir and everyone knows I’d be awful at that! Of course you’d be ashamed of me!” Kili’s face screwed up from all the unhappiness as he had spoken and he looked very young and uncertain. 

Thorin stood slowly and drew Kili into a careful hug. “You fought admirably Kili, and even if you had not I would still be proud of you.” 

“But everyone talks about how at Azanulbizar you-”

“Enough. Don’t compare yourself to what others have done; it was your first battle! Your survival was all that I hoped for.” He released Kili from the embrace and stepped back. 

He still frowned but did not look as anguished as before. “Yes Uncle.” 

* * *

October TA 2941

“Thorin, wake up!” Someone shakes his shoulder a little and Thorin goes from dead asleep to panicked in an instant. He pulls the knife out from where he keeps it under his pillow and staggers out from his blankets. Kili reels back, his hand held out in front of him motioning for Thorin to stop. 

“Kili?” he lowers the knife but doesn’t put it down. Kili looks excited but he should have known better than to wake Thorin up like that regardless “Why did you wake me?” 

“Bifur is back!” 

Thorin felt a dizzying mixture of relief and worry “Is he well? Did he find Nori?” it has been some days since Bifur and Ori’s confrontation and while no one had dared say anything the mood of the company had been slowly becoming grimmer. He put the knife back in its hiding place. 

Kili nodded “The healers are tending to them both right now as well as some of the guards that went with them. I haven’t seen them yet, Dwalin told me just now.” Thorin bent to hurriedly pull on his boots, Kili following his example and they stumbled through the dimly lit corridors. Those of the company that were able were already clustered around a closed door. A very intimidated guard bars everyone but healers from entering. Dori and Ori were huddled on the floor, crying and hugging each other tightly but they seemed relieved rather than grieving. 

A travel stained dwarf wearing the livery of Dain’s people that Thorin vaguely recognised approached him and he realised he must be the leader of the soldiers he had sent after Bifur. 

“Report.” He demanded. 

“We found Nori son of Kori and returned him to the mountain. He was being held captive by a group of stragglers from Bolg’s army along with at least seven other prisoners.” 

It was as Thorin had feared then. Once the first day of Nori’s disappearance had passed he had known that Nori was either dead or something awful had happened to him. As the days had passed with no sign he had expected (and to an extent, hoped) that Nori was dead as the alternatives were not something Thorin would wish upon anyone. 

“At least?” Thorin asked warily, unsure if he wanted to know more. 

“Many of the prisoners were dead or seriously injured and we have… reason to believe the orcs were eating them.” The soldier’s voice trembled and he held a hand over his mouth momentarily as he regained his composure. 

“As soon as we found the orcs Master Bifur attacked with the rest of the party not far behind and we made sure to kill every last one of them. Of the seven prisoners still… intact we found six were already dead, mortally injured or were killed in the skirmish and the seventh, an elf, succumbed to its wounds during the journey back to Erebor. Master Nori was the only survivor.” The soldier then told Thorin more details: the location of the orc camp, the injuries that had been sustained by the group and so on. He avoided telling Thorin anything more on the prisoners, both about Nori and those that hadn’t survived. Thorin then dismissed him and he hurried off to make his report again to Dain. 

Thorin approached those of his company that had gathered. Balin was up and about now, though he was leaning against the wall and was squinting with his eyes almost shut against the light so he most likely should still be in bed. Dwalin was by his side, scowling furiously which only served as more evidence that Balin shouldn’t be up. 

Bofur was also present, standing alone as while Bombur was much improved he was still confined to his bed. He still looked pale and serious but appeared less haunted. Thorin stepped closer to him and gave what he hoped was a reassuring thump to Bofur’s shoulder. 

“Did he tell you of Bifur?” Bofur asked, a nod of his head indicating he referred to the departing soldier. 

Thorin nodded “Bifur went into a rage when he saw the orc camp and rushed in before the others were properly ready. He’s exhausted and lightly injured, and lucky not to be worse off. Though apparently his quick actions are likely to have saved Nori.” 

Bofur gave a relieved laugh “Of course, I’m beginning to believe he is quite indestructible!” he tried to joke and while it was obvious that his heart was still weighed down from the horrors of the battle Thorin was glad that he finally seemed to be on his way to recovering. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did plan to kill one of the company but after writing notes over who would be the best choice vs who would I be willing to kill of I decided that I would have to go down the everyone lives route because while I'm here for the ANGST, major character death angst isn't the flavour I wanted. 
> 
> Next chapter: yet MORE Thorin angst! (tbh that's the entirety of the fic until like chapter 6, then we get Bilbo angst!)


	3. Limitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! So you know how I said in the comments back in January how the next chapter was just about ready to go up?? Turns out I was very mistaken! I decided to add a whole scene, then the scene wasn't working out and in the end I just decided to post it because I got annoyed. Also this chapter is LONG. I have a complete work on Ao3 that is shorter than this chapter. Aaaaaaaah. 
> 
> I had a hard time with Thorin this chapter as he kind of throws himself under a few buses and is feeling very down which isn't really how we see him in canon and also this chapter is supposed to convey Thorin realising a bunch of stuff and I really hope I pulled it off!
> 
> Oh also this chapter buys into a lot of the common fanon headcanons surrounding dwarves and their hair. If you aren't familiar with this then it might seem like Thorin repeatedly makes mountains out of molehills and I would recommend you read [A Dwarf's Pride](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126038/chapters/2270296) by TrueRed, [Nobody](https://archiveofourown.org/works/666762) by Samayla or (if you want something low angst) [Plaits and Weaves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493016/chapters/30943053) by ArgentAconit which I think are good examples. 
> 
> Warnings for: fairly graphic torture, reference to suicidal thoughts and mentioned chronic illness (kind of?).

November TA 2941

It is the first time Thorin has seen the whole extent of the damage done to his face at the battle, now the best part of a month ago. Oin finally removed the bandages for good this morning and he has been so busy that it is in the evening that he has his first opportunity to just stop and look. He runs his fingers over the wide band of rough scar tissue that runs from just below his hairline to taper to a point at the corner of his jaw. The cavern made by his empty eye socket is unsettling to look at. He had known that his eye was gone and on bad nights he could almost _feel_ its absence but up until now it has been hidden by layers of bandages and seeing it is another thing entirely. It has a peculiar finality to it – as if before he could have somehow pretended it wasn’t real or only temporary. He could laugh at the ridiculousness; he has clearly spent too much time above ground! 

adjusts the hand mirror he has borrowed from what was once his mother’s rooms. As he is currently Thorin is a menacing sight, handsome by dwarven standards but skirting close to the line that divided rugged battle wounds from horrific disfigurements. He wonders what he looks like by a hobbit’s standards and then chides himself. He will never see Bilbo Baggins again! 

As Gandalf had planned, and once Bilbo had been healthy enough to travel, Gandalf had bundled him into a heavily padded cart and they had left for Thranduil’s halls. There they would spend the remainder of the winter and then Bilbo would finally be able to return home to his beloved Bag End. Thorin missed Bilbo more than he missed his own eye. It had only been a week since his departure but Thorin could have easily been convinced it had been at least ten times longer, although he had not seen Bilbo since that awful day before the battle. Well, he _had_ watched in secret from an arrow slit high in the mountain as Gandalf carried a hobbit-sized bundle of blankets and furs to the cart and then slowly rode away but that hardly counted. He had stood with his face pressed to the narrow crack long after the company had returned inside from where they had bade the travellers farewell in a less clandestine manner. So long had he watched that he felt stiff and chilled and the cart had disappeared from sight over the horizon some undeterminable time before. 

It was hopeless to even entertain that Bilbo would still find him handsome. While Thorin was self-aware enough (just) to realise that he had well and truly fallen for the hobbit he had decided to leave any attempts at courting until after Smaug was defeated. Then the gold sickness had set in and while Thorin had made his intentions _very_ clear in a dwarven manner, Bilbo was not a dwarf and clearly hadn’t understood and after that… well any dreams of having Bilbo at his side as Consort under the Mountain had been crushed by his own hand. Thorin no longer deserved to have Bilbo’s affections, as much as it hurt and Thorin didn’t doubt that if he did manage to weasel his way into Bilbo’s good graces again Gandalf would quite happily turn him into a toad or something equally undignified. Thorin wasn’t sure what wizards did to people like him – they were not inclined to acts of cruelty but generally they had no reason to be as living in near isolation didn’t give them much opportunity to experience hatred – but Gandalf cared for Bilbo like the hobbit was family. 

Balin has already had a replacement eye commissioned for him but there will be no hiding it’s nature regardless of the quality of the craftmanship as what remains of his eyelid has healed malformed and twisted. He is unsure about how he feels about a glass eye – he has already objected to the diamond and sapphire creation that Balin had initially proposed. Thorin cannot risk falling to gold sickness again and stuffing precious stones in his eye socket will not help him ignore the gold’s siren call. While he is fairly sure he has remained free of gold sickness these last weeks he has been living in perpetual fear that if he relaxes it will pull him back under. No one can tell him what the likelihood of relapse is as no one has ever been able to break free in the manner he has. So Thorin decided that caution is the best path and when the Royal Wing is declared habitable again he choose himself a servant’s room. There are currently few luxuries in Erebor save from the never-ending piles of gold and jewels so it is not difficult to live simply and have very few notice. That will change when spring comes and food and trade become more plentiful but for now at least Thorin is able to live very much like the pauper-king he has been for most of his life. 

The one thing the people do notice is that since… since that day upon the battlements he has not worn his Grandfather’s crown, which has been repaired – or any other crown for that matter. When some of Dain’s nobles had expressed their distaste he had told them that he was not yet coronated so to wear a crown would be presumptuous. That had held them off for a day but then they had begun to hound him for the date of his coronation. He was already King of Durin’s Folk – though without a Kingdom the title had meant very little – but he was not yet King under the Mountain. They complained that without a properly crowned monarch they would appear vulnerable to their enemies and besides what reason could there possibly be to wait? After the first week their persistence had become rather wearing so Thorin had gotten creative in his excuses. He had expressed his wish to be crowned with his sister present and she wouldn’t be arriving until late spring at the earliest, and when that failed to satisfy them entirely he had claimed that the weight of a crown would hinder his recovery. He groaned quietly as the throbbing started up once again behind where his left eye had once sat and rubbed at his face. Maybe his latest excuse contained a grain of truth. 

He realised then that he had yet to put his plaits back in. They had been removed sometime during his convalescence and with his head still swathed in bandages he had been forced to let his hair fall untamed. Thorin finds his beads and a comb – the well-worn one that he brought with him on the quest, not one of the jewel-ridden monstrosities that he has seen some of the others start to use – and begins the slow process of combing his hair out in front of the fire. It takes longer than he anticipated as his right hand is still uncooperative – and is unlikely to stop being so – and his hair is tangled from neglect. He had better be careful to stay on top of that or people would liken him to Kili! 

His hands move almost on automatic to section out the hair for the first plait – the one that marks him as one of Durin’s folk. The pattern has been drilled into his head from a lifetime of repetition and while his loss in dexterity gives him a little trouble the plait is soon secured with one of his beads. The next is the one that denotes him as King and while this plait is marginally simpler than the first it gives him more difficulty. He still remembers far too clearly the day when it was decided Thorin was to officially going to take his missing father’s place. Dis had woven it for him because he was shaking too hard to do it himself. This time is far from easy but nowhere near as awful as that day, though the plait comes out misshapen and frayed. He leaves it in regardless – it is doubtful he will be able to do a better job if he tries again. The next are the family plaits on the opposite side of his head: one for his parents, one for his siblings and a final one for his sister-sons, each secured with two beads – each a gift from a different member of his family. The plait showing his mastery as a silversmith comes easily too but the warrior plait troubles him so much that he leaves it out and he doesn’t even bother with the one that marked him as a veteran of Azanulbizar. He supposes there will be a plait for the battle of the five armies as it is being called, although he doesn’t know the pattern and tucks the remaining beads into his pocket. He thought putting his plaits back in would make him feel better but he feels like he is only pretending to be the old Thorin Oakenshield. It is not a pleasant feeling but he cannot afford to draw the attention that continuing to go without would bring. 

His reign was not off a smooth start for a variety of reasons: the greatest being the aftermath of the battle and the lack of resources other than gold but also, regrettably, the distrust that he had earned from his treacherous actions while in the grip of gold sickness. Erebor was currently mainly populated with dwarves from the Iron Hills and very few were familiar with Thorin in the way his people in Ered Luin are and feared his line’s predilection for madness or scoffed at his weakness. Even then his failings could have possibly been overlooked given that he had reclaimed Erebor and provided many dwarves new hope but the tale of Bilbo, son of Bungo of the Shire had changed that. There was no longer one tale, but many versions – all of which were twisted fragments of what had actually happened, although even the truth was bad enough! Thorin had sold Bilbo to Thranduil as a slave, Bilbo had actually horribly died in the battle, Thorin had tortured Bilbo to death trying to learn the location of the Arkenstone, Bilbo still lived and was trapped in a cell somewhere in the mountain, Bilbo and Thorin had been secret lovers and Thorin had attempted to pitch himself over the battlements after his love when he realised what he had done… 

The dwarves’ unfamiliarity with Hobbits and Bilbo’s description had also lead many to believe he was actually a dwarfling and now any the mere handful of families that had moved to the mountain made sure to keep their own dwarflings far away from him. 

He sighed heavily and dragged himself to his feet. He would have to get up early tomorrow and it was no use worrying over matters he couldn’t control. Bilbo was surely recovering well and once there was enough food and some of his people from Ered Luin arrived all would be well in Erebor too. 

* * *

December TA 2941

Thorin swung the wooden practice sword clumsily and sighed when he missed the practice dummy. _Again_. His injuries may have healed now but his right hand remained stiff and unable to grip tightly so he was having to completely relearn how to write and wield a sword left-handed on top of coping with the lack of depth perception. The only way to overcome it would be to practice but to do so in front of his subjects was humiliating. It did neither them nor him any good to be seen while weak so he had taken, much to Dwalin’s disapproval, to training alone late in the night. 

Especially when he couldn’t sleep. Thorin had many reasons not to sleep: his fear of relapsing into the gold sickness, his guilt at all he had done, Bilbo’s shriek when Thorin had dropped him… admittedly it was none of these that was currently keeping him from his rest. 

This evening he had paid Fili a visit. Every day since he had emerged from his coma Thorin had rejoiced for and mourned his sister-son in turn. He was deeply thankful that Fili still lived and yet it was… distressing to see him so changed. Oin had told him that given time he still could improve but that didn’t make it any easier right now! Sometimes Fili almost seemed like he had before. For brief snatches of the day he would tease Kili and complain loudly about being restricted to his bed and just generally act like the nuisance Thorin knew and had helped raise. He also still slept a lot and that wasn’t too bad either as it was true sleep, not the unnerving stillness of unconsciousness from before. 

But often Fili would just sit or lie quietly, no hint of recognition or intelligence in his eyes, never moving of his own volition or acknowledging his surroundings. Sometimes he would enter this state for hours and today it had lasted all day. Other days he would suffer awful migraines that all anyone could do to help against was to make sure he was somewhere dark and quiet but worst of all were the fits. It had only happened twice so far but Thorin found it terrifying. It was a horrible combination of everything he hated about the vacant periods and the migraines and Thorin found he had very little stomach for watching Fili suffer, especially when there was very little they could do about it. Oin had sent a letter asking for advice to some of his elven colleagues that he had met after the battle but he had warned Thorin not to get his hopes up as head wounds were tricky things. 

He finally landed a solid blow on the mannequin with an angry yell and it slumped over. Thorin stuck his sword into the sand that covered the ground in this part of the training halls and bent over to right the dummy when he heard the distinctive scuff of dwarven boots approaching. Multiple dwarves, approaching at speed if he heard correctly. 

He reached for the practice sword. He had been visiting the training halls at night for a while now and had never encountered so much as a mouse! He had only lit a couple torches around the area he was training in and the halls were far from the reach of the still working parts of the mirror system that funnelled natural light into the mountain so he could only see his immediate surroundings. He also realised he had left Orcrist with his coat and outer tunic on the benches and hurriedly approached the side of the room. 

A blur of movement had him turning and parrying the silver flash of a blade, the wood of the practice weapon sheared through as if it were a rotten stick. Thorin threw the truncated piece of wood at his attacker and reached for the knife at his belt. There was a scuff of feet from his blind side and before Thorin could turn he received a harsh blow to the head. He stumbled forward with a grunt but retained his balance, swiping with his knife to cover for the moment of weakness. The blade made glancing contact, not enough to put them off but better than nothing. He cast around to find his attackers but they were dressed in dark colours and had vanished back into the shadows. It was silent except from the heavy breathing of several people and the shifting noises of boots in the sand. Thorin looked toward where Orcrist lay but then they were upon him again. He dodged a sword thrust and an axe blow that could have removed his head and he still wasn’t sure how many there were but if he ran for it now then he had a chance- 

The cudgel came out of nowhere. Thorin folded around the weapon without a sound save the whistling of air leaving his lungs. He barely noticed when he fell down on his back in a daze, pain ripping him apart and hazing his vision as his diaphragm spasmed and he struggled for air. He thought he might hear laughter and feel hands upon his body but it was hard to tell and when Thorin became properly aware of his surroundings once more he was somewhere else. 

He opened his eyes to find himself now lying face-down on a stone floor. He wasn’t in the training halls any longer but at least he was still somewhere in Erebor. He moved to get up but his arms were stretched out to either side of him, metal shackles biting into his skin and Thorin wasn’t going to be going anywhere without assistance. His whole torso ached fiercely but it appeared his organs were all still intact, if unhappy at being bruised. 

He heard a low whisper off to the left: “He’s awake.” and braced himself for whatever his kidnappers wanted. A hand tangled roughly in his hair, a blatant insult that made Thorin growl and tense, and his head was pulled back. One of the Dwarves that had attacked him – their faces may have been covered but they were undeniably dwarves – stared back at him, dark eyes gleaming from the eyeholes of their mask. 

“Well Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, _King_ under the mountain” the words were spat at him derisively “it appears you are just as weak as we had heard.” There was a murmur of reverent agreement from around the room. 

“You call yourself King of Kings and a mighty warrior – the hero of our time! And yet not only did you succumb to the madness that plagues your proud line of _bleating lambs_ quicker than any dwarf that has come before but you went back on your own promises, bartered with elves and murdered a _child_! You do not deserve to be king under the mountain, you should have realised your weakness and handed the throne to Lord Dain as soon as the battle ended, for while you were skulking bitterly in the blue mountains he was _leading_ his people. While you were crying over the dead he was slaying Azog and when you cried for help in a battle caused by your treachery he came to your aid!” the spokesperson, and presumably also leader, finished speaking, chest heaving from the fervour of his speech. 

There were many things Thorin could have said but he found himself exclaiming: “I didn’t kill Bilbo! He’s still alive!!” 

“Then where is he? What kind of dwarf brings a dwarfling on a mission like that, anyway?” 

“He left with Gandalf the Grey some time ago. And as I have _tried_ to explain, Master Baggins is not a dwarfling but a fully-grown hobbit and he wished to return to his home.” He gritted out. He didn’t actually know what Bilbo had wished, he hadn’t had the nerve to ask Gandalf if it was Bilbo’s desire to return to the Shire or the wizard’s but that was beside the point. 

“ _Of course_.” The masked dwarf scoffed “I’ve never heard of these Hobbit creatures before this nonsense and no one in this mountain has seen him alive save your company. You won’t even own up to your mistakes, Thorin Childslayer! You are not worthy of the crown and you know it! Why else would you not wear it!?” 

Thorin’s rage was incandescent from this deluge of accusations. “Do not talk to me of worthiness when Dain was perfectly content to stand by and watch my people and I risk everything, never lifting finger until it suited him!” he threatened lowly “Unchain me now and I will show you just how deluded you are!!” 

The leader kicked him solidly in the side and the other dwarves all bristled in indignation. It appeared they were zealous followers of Dain, although he didn’t fear they were acting under his orders. While Thorin was not particularly close with Dain they respected each other and Dain’s lack of assistance had been more to protect his own people than to slight Thorin (although Thorin was finding understanding and forgiveness were entirely separate when it came to this matter). 

The leader’s tone lightened even as his grip on Thorin’s hair tightened “All we want from you is for you to renounce your claim and the claims of your sister-sons to the throne and to appoint Dain instead. Once you have promised you will do so we will let you go.” He showed Thorin a contract which he didn’t even bother to read, it was no doubt full of ridiculous demands that he would be incapable of meeting. 

“I have no intention of giving in to the demands of honourless criminals that sully Erebor’s shadows” he replied haughtily. 

At no point in these unpleasant proceedings did it occur to Thorin that provoking his captors would be unwise. While he had some experience of being kidnapped and held against his will he had never faced any consequences for refusing to cooperate or insulting his captors: in goblin town they had escaped before anything more than a few lashes could be inflicted and in Thranduil’s halls the elves had had little interest in hurting them. It was this lack of experience and foresight that meant that Thorin was taken aback (and a little unnerved) when his hair was abruptly released, sending his chin crashing into the floor rather painfully, and two dwarves set about cutting off the light undershirt he had been wearing. 

Soon Thorin was shivering as his skin was bared to the cool air, trails of warmth trickling down his sides where the knives had nicked him. He could feel his kidnapper’s gazes upon his exposed back. Thorin was not necessarily an _old_ dwarf but he was passing his prime now and had been in enough conflicts both big and small to acquire an impressive array of injuries. He supposed from the slightly bemused silence that while it was well known that he had fought at Azanulbizar and the battle of the five armies they must have expected him to have sat around and ordered others to risk their lives in place of his own in the intervening years so to see he was not as untouched as a babe was probably a shock. 

Admittedly Thorin hadn’t been the perfect leader. He _had_ left his people after Dis’ husband, Vili, had died but it had been to provide for his family! Leading a group of refugees did little to put coin in Thorin’s pockets and after that awful first winter after Vili’s death when they all nearly starved and Kili had been born weak and sickly he had left to find work. It was only once his sister-sons were in their thirties and healthy and well fed that Thorin had even dared attend to his duties once again. That was when he had become a miner so that he could spend more time with his people, although he had been careful to keep his occupation as quiet as he could. It would not do for the mine owners of Ered Luin to know he was working in their mines. He had been lucky with that – people preferred to gossip about how Thorin had ruffled the council of Ered Luin’s feathers or how the heirs of the line of Durin were too unruly and headstrong to make wise leaders than wonder about Borin son of Sarin, a somewhat odd, quiet fellow that was seldom seen outside of his work at the mines. 

He wanted to laugh (or maybe cry) at these fools – they had bought the carefully maintained lie of the proud King-in-Exile Thorin Oakenshield who would _never_ deign to lower himself any further than circumstance had already and added his recent misdeeds and concluded that he was a disgrace of a ruler. If Thorin had been in their position faced with the same selection of half-truths and deceptions then he would likely think the same- 

Thorin was jarred out of his thoughts by a dwarf sitting heavily on his lower back. He grunted as his newly forming bruises were pressed into the stone beneath him but otherwise didn’t complain despite the feeling of breathlessness. 

“You have an impressive collection of scars, why don’t we add to them.” The leader hissed as the dwarf sat on him brought something cold to the flesh across Thorin’s shoulder blades. A knife he realised when the first slow, dragging cut was made. The blade was tortuously blunt and did a poor job of parting his tough skin. Thorin gritted his teeth so he didn’t dishonour himself with every rough jerk of the knife. The dwarf pulled the knife away and hummed thoughtfully before stabbing it back into his flesh and beginning the second cut. Thorin tried to twist away but between the dwarf’s weight and the chains he could only twitch. The fifth cut crossed one of the others – Thorin was in far too much pain by then to tell which one – and he hazily began to realise that they were carving something purposeful into his back. By the eighth cut he was sure it was a word of some sort, judging by the way the dwarf was progressing from left to right but he had no idea what. The knife was now in the flesh at the centre of his back and Thorin forced himself to remain still after he felt metal scrape against bone. As soon as they had passed his spine he relinquished his fragile control over his body. His wrists were chafed and bleeding by now, though it was barely a distraction against the agony that pulled at every nerve in his shoulders. Surely it had to end soon? The last remnant of control slipped away and Thorin cried out raggedly. A haze fell over him, protecting him from the slow, jagged pain of the knife parting his flesh again and again. How could a dwarf of all peoples bear to do this to one of their fellows? Thorin couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be on the other end of the knife: to knowingly torture his fellow dwarf, or anyone for that matter! 

Thorin returned unpleasantly to full awareness when he felt the dwarf get up off his back. He could feel blood and sweat flowing along his back and down his arms and sides and supressed a shudder at the pain. He had been injured in many more painful ways but for it to have been so prolonged and the feeling of complete helplessness made this worse. Never before had he been slowly humiliated like this, each layer of his resolve peeled back before being cut away. 

The leader was kneeling by his side, careful to avoid the stains on the floor “What say you now to our offer?” they asked. 

Thorin groaned and realised he sounded rather pitiful so he spat out a couple curses. 

The leader grabbed him by the hair again “Oh how crude, your majesty! If you want to keep your tongue perhaps you should use it more wisely.” They put their hand on the knife on their belt threateningly “However, seeing as our conversation isn’t finished it is perhaps better that we don’t do that just yet. I would take your remaining eye instead but that is also still needed for you to sign our contract.” The leader tightened their grip and said in a pretence of thoughtfulness “I have always had a liking for pretty marbles.” 

Before Thorin could protest there were hands pressing the unscarred side of his face into the floor. Thorin couldn’t see anything in this position and when he felt rough fingers on his cheek he panicked. The hold on his head tightened and Thorin was powerless as his glass eye was pried from his skull. It must have only taken minutes but every second that he had another dwarf’s fingers inside his eye socket was unbearable. The hands released him and he turned his head protectively so that his blind side was facing the floor. Even though he knew it was over he could still _feel_ the fingers pressing against the soft tissues of the insides of his eyelids. Thorin was shaking and he felt nauseous but it seemed that no one noticed as they were busy inspecting his false eye.

“It’s only glass!” one cried in astonishment. 

“I thought for sure it was diamond and sapphires!!” another said, sounding disappointed. They all then returned their attention back to Thorin. 

“It appears that not only are you a dishonourable and weak king but you are also a miserly one.” The leader said “is parting with gold really so difficult for you that you still dress like a beggar?” 

The eye was thrown down and shattered into many pieces. Thorin flinched at the proximity but he remained resolute “You may mistreat me as you wish but my answer will remain the same.” He announced and somehow his voice still sounded confident and assured despite the scratchiness from screaming. 

“Well then. We’d best continue.” The leader said. They motioned one of their other followers over. handed him a tiny, slim blade and said the words that any dwarf dreaded “The punishment for murder is usually execution but a quick death is too kind for one who has killed an innocent child. There can only be one sentence: shave him.” There were several gasps around the room. To shave any dwarf was the ultimate dishonour and if done in a court of law symbolised the exile of that dwarf, but for a King… It had never happened before but he would likely have to abdicate – even if he was allowed to rule he would have to make himself scarce until his hair grew back and it would probably forever remain a stain upon his name. 

He wasn’t going to sign their contract though. Thorin was unsure about the exact legalities that would surround him renouncing Fili and Kili’s claims to the throne so he didn’t want to chance that he would be signing away their birth right just because someone threatened him. 

The dwarf that had been given the blade approached and pushed Thorin’s head down firmly. The knife was placed at the back of his neck and he dared not struggle as if it so much as twitched it would cut through either his hair or his spine. 

“This is your last chance to stop this.” The leader told him. 

Thorin tried to reach for words that would properly convey his contempt and hide his fear. They would not come, chased away by the awful pain in his shoulders and his terror at what was to come. 

The knife began to move, Thorin could almost feel the loss of every strand. He resigned himself to his fate. Whatever came after, his heirs would serve Erebor well! 

There was a commotion suddenly. Thorin couldn’t turn to look so he strained his ears trying to figure out what was happening. There were shouts of surprise, pain and anger in equal measure accompanied by the clash of metal against metal and the noise of a sharp blade slicing through flesh. A spray of liquid splatters Thorin and the knife is gone from the back of his head. Finally he can look and sees that his kidnappers are fighting a newcomer. Most have already fallen, probably dead judging by the shocking volume of spilled blood covering the floor. The newcomer mercilessly dispatches of the last of Thorin’s captors with a knife to the throat and approaches him. 

They wear a hood that obscures much of their face but when they bend down to pick at the locks on Thorin’s shackles he sees the scandalously short reddish-brown beard on his rescuer’s chin and knows it is Nori. His right arm is freed and while Nori moves to pick the other lock Thorin gingerly reaches up to examine how much hair he has lost. There is a small bald patch at the base of his skull but overall he has been very lucky – it will be easy to hide until it has grown back, unlike the rest of what has been inflicted upon him. He has to move his arm back down to the floor when the pull on his back becomes too much. 

Nori frees his other hand and helps him sit up. Thorin is hard pressed to remember exactly when the last time he saw Nori was. He had only visited him a couple times when he was recovering in the infirmary as Nori had been unable to deal with crowds and his brothers were by his side almost constantly. Then one day he had just disappeared and the only reasons anyone had known that Nori was still in the mountain were the regular disappearance of food from the kitchens and the occasional sighting of a cloaked figure that walked as quietly as a hobbit. 

Physically Nori appears to be fine, maybe still a little thin from all the missed meals on the quest but his body has healed well from what Thorin can see. However, the glint in his eye is a little too feral for Thorin’s liking and when his hood is pushed back his hair is still in a sorry state: barely an inch long and Thorin tries his hardest not to stare. If Nori had been just a few minutes later he would have undergone part of the same ordeal. 

Nori tugs Thorin to his feet gently and leads him away from the carnage. It must be the early hours of the morning now as the corridors are still empty and dark but Nori leads him through the gloom confidently to what initially appears to be a small cupboard full of supplies to make the torches that line the corridors. Well that _was_ what the cupboard was but it also happened to have a false back wall that leads into a larger room behind. Nori lights a lantern and guides Thorin to sit on a low stool. This must be where he has hiding all this time – there is a pile of bedding in the corner, a respectably sized store of non-perishable foods and stacks and stacks of papers and odds and ends that Thorin doesn’t investigate any further. Nori fetches a basin of water and a bag full of bandages and ointments that had clearly been _liberated_ from Oin. 

Nori kneels on the floor behind Thorin and carefully washes his back. The feeling of cloth on the gashes is agony but Thorin can tell that Nori is trying to make this as painless as possible. He is filled with an uncomfortable amount of gratitude – he wants to thank Nori for saving him but there are no words to express the depth of what he feels. Not for the first time in his life Thorin wishes he was better at expressing his emotions. How was it that he would prefer to negotiate a trade deal – and likely do a better job of it too – than tell those important to him how much he appreciated them? 

Thorin watched as Nori ran a needle through the lantern flame before threading it and moving back out of Thorin’s field of view to stitch closed the cuts closed. Thorin sat stoically still as the first few incisions were stitched, then his curiosity grew too much and he asked: 

“What did they write on my back?” 

Nori’s hand twitched and Thorin grit his teeth when the needle pulled painfully at his lacerated skin. The moment stretched out almost uncomfortably long before Nori silently began to stitch again. It occurred to Thorin sometime later, when Nori was reaching about two thirds through that Nori hadn’t spoken a word since he had appeared. It was odd now that he thought about it: Nori was capable of being _very_ quiet, but he also enjoyed boasting and teasing and had a sly sense of humour that he could and would use to run rings around most of the other dwarves in the company. Thorin had heard tales in the past of people who had undergone great suffering just ceasing to talk, _at all_. Sometimes they would remain silent forever, sometimes (rarely) they would regain their voices but he didn’t fancy Nori’s chances if that was what had happened here. Thorin was just trying to scrape together the words for an apology when Nori finally finished his work and tied off and cut the thread. Thorin relaxed somewhat now the most painful part was over. 

“Uslukhul” his voice was quiet and rough from silence and Thorin was so surprised that he spoke at all that what Nori had actually said went unheard. 

“What?” 

“That’s what they wrote. On your back.” Nori spoke slowly, as if Thorin were made of eggshells and not stone. Thorin was so overwhelmingly relieved to hear his voice again that it took him a moment to realise his question had been answered. 

The joy from hearing Nori speak dropped away as if it had never been. They had chosen their insults well – very few words could have gotten under his skin better! Ever since Smaug had invaded Erebor in his youth, Thorin had endured many insults in this vein towards both himself and his family. To call a dwarf _dragon-like_ was itself not a grave insult (and if the context was the battlefield it could even be a complement) but it was an insensitive thing to say to a dwarf who had lost everything to a dragon. And an even graver insult when there was some truth behind it. Thorin had grown up with his family’s dragon-like natures thrown in his face by his enemies and detractors at every opportunity and there had been nothing he could say to protest because they had been _right_. If his Grandfather had kept his hoarding and lust for gold under control then Smaug would never have come! Thorin clenched his fists until his right hand began to ache but he didn’t stop. When Thror had still been alive Thorin had lived in fear of him and the madness that had only persisted after they had left Erebor. He realised that although he had shaken off the madness in the end, he had been worse while in its thrall than Thror ever had been. Thror had threatened and raged but he had never actually tried to murder his family! Thorin had spent decades assuring people that he wasn’t his grandfather, but he was _worse_. 

“Thorin.” Nori was now in front of him, looking concerned. He must have been trying to get his attention for a while as Thorin’s chest is now bandaged and he doesn’t remember that happening at all. 

“Thorin, calm down!” Nori must be able to see some of the turmoil Thorin is experiencing judging by the distress on his face. He is crouched directly in Thorin’s line of sight but is careful to stay out of easy touching distance, something that Thorin appreciates greatly right now. If anyone understands how he feels presently it would be Nori. He stares into Thorin’s eyes with a look of understanding that Thorin has never from him seen before. “Don’t let what happened today to eat at you, those monsters are dead and you survived and that is all that matters.” Nori’s fingers gripped tightly at his trousers and Thorin notices that a couple fingers have healed slightly crooked. 

“But they were right.” He protests. 

“About what? You are the one that decided that we would reclaim Erebor and you saw that goal through. Yes, our journey was difficult and if we had stayed things would have been different but we were dying a slow death in Ered Luin anyway. The blue mountains were never meant to support so many dwarves and at some point the mine owners would have discovered that you were working for them and you would have lost any of the remaining sway you held as the leader of Durin’s Folk.” 

Thorin is taken aback that Nori had known about ‘Borin’ and had never tried to hold it over him – not even when he had threatened to cut off his hands! He almost reacts aggressively to the reveal of his secret but Nori almost looks almost _passionate_? in his certainty over Thorin’s worth. It is a surprise that he would gain Nori’s loyalty, especially given the manner he had convinced him to join the company. He admitted he may have been a little cruel, having Balin lay an elaborate trap and then when Nori was caught by it demanding he sign on or face the traditional punishment for thievery. Arrangements such as this didn’t exactly lead to pleasant relations – he had won the displeasure of all three sons of Kori, but it had also increased the size of the company by three and as the months passed and the company had become closer any bad feelings had first softened in the face of adversity before fading to just a whisper and by the time they had reached Laketown such grievances were in the past. 

“But I’ve made so many mistakes” Thorin sounds wretched even to his own ears. 

“Well then all you can do is learn from them.” Nori doesn’t speak unkindly but his tone is brisk as he allows himself to fall back into his more usual manner “I’m going to go get Dwalin now and deal with any loose ends. Please stay here Thorin.” 

He nods reluctantly and Nori disappears silently out of the hidden door. 

Thorin sits in the small room for an unknowable period of time. His thoughts are a dark maelstrom that threatens to drag him in and he soon realises that sitting quietly isn’t going to help him. He finds the basin of water and cleans the wounds on his wrists before wrapping them in more bandages from Nori’s stash. He remembers taking a blow to the head during the struggle in the training room but when he feels with his hands there is only a slight bump and he doesn’t feel any of the symptoms of a concussion. He still has no shirt and doubts anything Nori has would fit him so he wraps himself in a blanket to stave off the chill and hide the state of his torso. The bruises have coloured nicely now, a mosaic of colours that he knows is only going to get worse over the next couple of days. 

He doesn’t have much longer to wait he thinks before he hears the cupboard door open and Nori enters with Dwalin trailing after him. Nori has blood smeared on his hands that he didn’t when he left but he appears uninjured so Thorin decides not to ask. 

“Thorin!” before he can protest, Dwalin is hugging him roughly. He fixes his face in what he hopes is a neutral expression to hide the pain the action brings him. 

“Are you well enough to move?” Dwalin asks with no small amount of concern “If there is some kind of plot against you we should move to somewhere more heavily guarded.” He nods sharply, though when he moves to get up off the low stool he finds his bruises have developed sufficiently that he is already stiff. Dwalin catches hold of his upper arms as he staggers and smoothly pulls him to his feet before pushing aside the blanket to check his injuries. 

Dwalin frowns as he takes in the bandages and the bruising “You idiot. This is the last time you wander on your own at night.” He turns to Nori “Should I be fetching Oin?” 

Nori shakes his head and steps off to the side to fetch a cloak that he drops over Thorin’s shoulders. 

“We should go” he says shortly before exiting the room. Thorin and Dwalin follow and they creep down the still empty corridors to the Royal Wing. As they get closer there are noticeably more guards than usual and soon Nori has disappeared as if he was never there. Dwalin escorts him to his room, where Fili and Kili are already gathered. They are both barefoot and still in their sleep clothes and very worried. 

“Uncle!” Kili bounds over to his side and flutters around anxiously. Fili hovers uncertainly as well but he is a little more stoic and does so at a greater distance. His heart aches at causing his sister-sons to worry but he is relieved that it appears that the attack had only been against him. 

Dwalin herds him into bed and fusses uncharacteristically which Thorin allows because he is bone tried. In the end Dwalin is satisfied he isn’t going to drop dead in the night and refrains from fetching Oin and leaves to stand guard outside and stew angrily. 

“What happened?” Kili asks with youthful insensitivity “Dwalin wouldn’t explain, he just said we should stay with you tonight.” He sits on the edge of Thorin’s bed with a heavy thump that jostles Thorin unpleasantly but he doesn’t complain. 

Thorin shifted on the bed, he was discovering there was no comfortable position to lie in his condition. He considers playing down what happened but his sister-sons are grown dwarves now and do not warrant any coddling and they will be worried about him whether he explains himself or not. Although he is certainly not going to give them a blow-by-blow account! “I was attacked by a group of dwarves from the Iron hills. They wished for me to abdicate and change the line of succession so that the crown would go straight to Dain.” 

Kili frowned and looked upset and Thorin was glad he had left out all mention of the… torture that had been inflicted upon him. It wouldn’t do to tell him just how close it had come to Fili being King under the mountain – whether by Thorin’s shaming or death. Fili took the news much better, his eyes narrowed as he considered the situation carefully. 

“Would that even have worked if you had agreed, Uncle?” Thorin attempted to shrug but aborted the motion halfway through when it pulled on his stitches. “Do you think Dain himself is involved in the attack?!” 

He stifled a yawn before answering “I don’t have any reason to. They appeared to be acting independently but it remains to be seen if there is some sort of larger plot. Nori dealt with all of them but I’ll be expecting you both to be careful from now on.” 

They looked surprised at the mention of Nori but Fili nodded solemnly and promised he would take care and Kili promised the same, although slightly grudgingly. Satisfied with their responses and that they were all safe Thorin finally allowed himself to fall into an exhausted sleep. 

* * *

December TA 2941

Thorin woke slowly, a rarity that should have made him wary but he felt so secure in his warm nest of blankets that he felt no desire to move or think about anything particularly hard so instead he dowsed contentedly. He felt a fuzzy kind of disorientation – the kind caused by sleeping too long and left him uncertain of where exactly he was – but it was pleasant enough so he didn’t question it. There was an ache in his back but he supposed he was just getting old. He snuggled further into the blanket and suddenly every muscle was lit on fire, starting at his back and stomach and spreading outwards like the inexorable march of a conquering army. 

He was no longer feeling comfortable at all but had no plans of moving again as he had no desire to discover the agony that sitting up would induce if he had any choice. 

He eventually chanced opening his eyes and discovered that he was in his bed in Erebor. Fili was curled up at his side, still asleep and another dwarf – most likely Kili – was lying at the foot of the bed. He hurt so awfully because of those traitors. They had had the audacity to kidnap him in his own realm and carve him up like fresh meat. 

To try and shave him as if _he_ was the criminal…

“How are you feeling?” a voice asked, interrupting his thoughts. Thorin startled and then swallowed a curse when he discovered just how interconnected his neck and shoulder muscles were. Balin looked at him concernedly while he regained his composure “Should I be fetching Oin?” he asked. 

Thorin scoffed “No, I will be fine, Balin. I am merely stiff.” 

He sat up slowly in an effort to minimise both the pain and his chance of accidentally waking his sister-sons. When he was finally upright he was breathing hard and sweating but when Balin moved to help him he motioned him to remain where he was. 

Thorin settled gingerly against the headboard “What time is it? Have I missed anything important?” 

“It’s only late morning, don’t worry.” Balin reassured him “I’ve taken the liberty to cancel as many of your meetings and other duties today as I could.” 

He almost sighed in relief but then he remembered “Wait, today is…” it took him a moment to remember what day it was and another moment to think about what was planned “What about the western sapphire mine reopening? That’s been planned for months and I can’t not show up for no good reason when work is supposed to start tomorrow!” 

“Thorin, you aren’t in any condition to be walking round Erebor for hours and especially not when there could be more dwarves out to hurt you!” 

“I am nowhere near injured enough to be treated as if I am made of glass!” He threw the covers aside and angrily threw himself out of bed. Standing up so carelessly was agony but he managed to stand steadily after an initial stumble and faced Balin resolutely, hoping he couldn’t see how much pain this caused him. 

“Balin, please fetch me my robes.” He ordered. 

“Thorin!” Balin started but he cut him off impatiently. 

“This is an important public event, Balin.” He said sternly “I am perfectly aware of the risks but I _cannot_ afford to not go.” 

There was a grumble from the direction of the bed and a bedraggled Kili appeared from under the blankets with a yawn. “What’s going on?” he asked warily. 

“It’s the day of the mine reopening. Wake up your brother and go get changed.” 

Kili’s expression turned to sheepish panic and he near dragged his still half-asleep brother from the room. The door swung shut with a slam and once again the atmosphere in the room became tense. 

Balin sighed and looked mildly upset but he acquiesced “Very well.” 

He brought Thorin’s best clothes from where they had been left lying over the back of a chair the previous evening. It took embarrassingly long for Thorin to get dressed. His clothes weren’t tight fitting by any means but the range of motion in his arms and shoulders was limited and he was too stiff to bend over. Balin had to help him for the whole process but he endured the discomfort and the shame that accompanied every reminder of his injuries and how he had gotten them. The inclusion of Thorin’s heavy wolf’s fur coat was a point of brief contention but Thorin won that point too as it really was the most impressive part of the outfit. 

Finally Balin stepped back from tying a wide dark blue ribbon over his empty eye-socket and Thorin was ready. There was a great silvered mirror that Thorin hadn’t yet gotten around to moving elsewhere and when he examined his reflection he was relieved to see that while he was pale and his face was mildly scratched he looked much healthier than he felt. 

There was only a little time left before the ceremony so they left Thorin’s room and were joined by only Kili. He was dressed unusually smartly, though still scruffy if Thorin held him up to the standards that were expected of him at that age. Balin fussed with the way the layers of his clothes lay until they sat straight. 

“Fili isn’t feeling great so he went back to bed.” Kili said a little disappointedly and they left the royal wing together. 

The walk to the mine entrance felt far longer than usual and Thorin soon became acutely aware of the weight of the fur coat across his back. He grudgingly admitted to himself that Balin may have been right but there was already enough of a crowd that to remove it would be strange. 

Almost the whole mountain’s populace was present, only a fraction of the number Erebor could take but still a lot of dwarves. They made a solemn crowd, watching him untrustingly despite the happy occasion they had gathered for. 

The ceremony was not long – at least not by dwarven standards – though events regarding the main source of dwarven income were taken seriously. Thorin had a speech, which luckily he had written some weeks in advance so he already knew exactly what to say regardless of his late night exploits. Kili stood at his left shoulder throughout, the space where Fili was supposed to stand at his right left conspicuously empty. 

Then there was the singing, the choir specially chosen to have voices that would reverberate well down the mineshaft. It sounds perfect, Thorin hasn’t heard such a satisfying – and loud – minesong since he was a child and he is filled with renewed hope. The deep resonance of so many voices reflecting off good strong stone not only raises his spirits and the remainder of the ceremony is a much more joyful affair. 

He gives the new mine supervisor the finely wrought golden pickaxe with sapphires inlaid in the head that symbolised the position. Thorin has avoided looking at it as much as possible – not that it bothers him, he just wants to be cautious – so he wouldn’t be able to describe it further than that but Balin had made sure it was the right one for the mine. 

The lass was not the most… traditional of choices for the role but Bofur, as Thorin’s advisor on all mining matters, had recommended her and Thorin had respected that. Some of the council didn’t like it overmuch but he was sure once the mine was running their disapproval would mostly dry up. 

The new supervisor’s speech was given solemnly but with great determination and then the ceremony was over. Thorin leads the way to the great hall where there is a ‘feast’ laid out (feast being a relative term as they do not have the supplies for anything so fancy). He lowered himself into his chair and attempted to look as if he were halfway aware of the conversations around him. His entire back throbbed and he was queasy with hunger but he ignored the protests from his body and forced himself to slowly eat a bread roll so that his stomach would settle. Balin gave him a couple of concerned looks but allowed himself to be occupied in conversation in Thorin’s stead. 

Thorin waited a couple hours before leaving so his departure couldn’t be interpreted as rudeness or some kind of slight. Kili thankfully anticipated that he would need help and quietly offered his arm so that he could get up. They left together, Kili wanting to check on his brother. His dedication to his sibling made the over a century old hurt of losing Frerin briefly sting but funnily enough it no longer bothered him as much as the more recent hurts he had amassed over the last year. 

When they reached the royal wing, Thorin bade him goodnight before collapsing into his bed and instantly falling into an exhausted sleep. 

* * *

December TA 2941

“I’m afraid I must attend to an urgent matter!” Thorin tries to hide his urgency as he abruptly stands – his chair skidding across the tiled floor – and leaves the council chambers quicker than is maybe polite. The gaudy gold necklace that the head of the Goldsmiths Guild was wearing gleams mockingly in his peripheral vision, the many cut precious stones and metals that adorn the other dwarves present glittering in concert like some kind of awful constellation of greed. 

He can feel the contents of his stomach churning uncomfortably but it does not stop him from sprinting away from the council chambers once he is out of sight of the doors. 

He thought he was clear of the sickness! It seemed he was still a fool. 

He has been running blindly but when he has to slow he finds himself near the (now not so) secret entrance which has recently been restored. Thorin knows that after making such a dramatic departure at least Balin, and possibly other members of his company will be looking for him. He can’t go to the battlements which is where he normally goes when he is troubled but he wants to feel the outside air and it will probably take the others a while to think of the secret door. He changes course and heads for the door. He hasn’t been here since the battle but it looks much as he remembered. There are lit torches at the entrance to the tunnel and the carvings on the walls have been cleaned so he can read the Khuzdul easily. He doesn’t linger in the tunnel long, only pausing to find the key that he still keeps round his neck. There are other copies now, distributed so that they are available in case of another crisis, but he has kept the original as a memento of his father. 

The key turns smoothly in the lock and the door swings open smoothly, despite being made of a tonne of solid rock. Outside the mountain it is pouring with rain but Thorin is unbothered. He strides out, making sure to prop the door open behind him as it still only opens from the outside on Durin’s day, and tips his head back to look up at the heavy grey clouds and feel the icy water pour down his face. 

He feels better for being outside but still shaken. He had been close, so horrifyingly close, to turning upon an innocent dwarf just because he wore too much finery. Even the mere memory of the necklace the Guild master had been wearing was enough to summon a slithery, covetous haze that squeezes at his heart. Jealousy gripped him such that his breath was short and quick. A tremble ran through his limbs as he was overcome with rage that others could own and flaunt such riches. _He_ was King. _He_ was the one that had claimed back their glorious homeland while _they_ were quaking in their homes so how dare they try to outshine him! 

_Yes! All of the gold is yours! Those pretenders don’t deserve an OUNCE. Take it back. Seize it. KILL THEM!_

Thorin was startled by the jolt of his knees folding beneath him. The voice that he had last heard in the depths of gold sickness was gone once more. It was just him slumped in the rain, cold sinking into his bones. 

The madness was not vanquished as he had hoped. 

Thorin fell back to sit on the wet stone and lichen, he couldn’t continue as King like this. Thorin had known for a long time that he no longer wished to rule. Leading Durin’s Folk in their exile had been a thankless task, especially once it had fallen to him, but save from some minor hiccups at the start of his rule he had never faltered. Sometime between the easing of his madness and Bilbo’s departure from the mountain he had realised that he no longer desired the throne. He no longer felt worthy of the responsibility, a hollow shell of the dwarf he had been, but he had recognised that he was the best King available to Erebor right now. If he was to abdicate now Fili would be King and even if his sister-son hadn’t been recovering from such serious injuries he wouldn’t have dreamed of doing that to him. Fili was barely out of childhood, and while Kili was currently more physically able he had not been raised to the role the way Fili had been. To crown either of them as they were now would be to invite disaster. Dain would be next in line after the boys and he had made it clear to Thorin after the battle that he was perfectly happy with what he had. Dis being a women excluded her from the line of succession, quite unfairly in Thorin’s opinion as she had always had a head for leadership and was less hot tempered than the others in his family. He may believe himself to be an unworthy, honourless creature no better than a goblin but Thorin owed it to his company to see through what he’d started. 

Now though, he would have to reconsider that assessment. If it was possible for relapses to happen then he would have to either step down or place someone in charge of assessing his mental state. It was a humiliating prospect but he had already realised abdication was not currently an option. It would have to be someone he could trust to not misuse that power and knew him well enough to notice any changes. Balin would be the obvious choice but he was unsure if even Balin would always notice in time if he continued to relapse. Thorin felt shame join the well of unbearable emotions that sat heavily inside him. 

He is shivering violently now, hands painfully numb as the rain has changed to sleet. Thorin is only dressed in his council robes which, while somewhat fancier than his normal attire, are also less warm and doesn’t include his fur coat. He staggers to back to the door on frozen feet only to find that he had not propped the door open well enough and it has swung closed. He is trapped outside! The only other way into the mountain is the main entrance far below on the other side of the mountain. As tired and cold as Thorin is he stands no chance of making the steep climb down the mountain. He would almost certainly fall to his death, not that the hypothermia that awaits him if he stays here is much better. He looks up at the clouds and sees not only that the sleet shows no sign of stopping but also that dusk is rapidly approaching. He swears quietly, but with great feeling. It appears that any choices have been taken out of his hands by his own foolishness. Fili will be king tomorrow after all. 

Thorin sits himself in the most sheltered corner he can find and awaits his end (or rescue!) with as much dignity as he can muster. He wonders what the others will think when they can’t find him. Dwalin will likely tear through the mountain under the assumption he has been kidnapped again. His teeth begin to chatter and he almost ( _almost_ ) wishes that he had been kidnapped again rather than a victim of his own poor decisions. 

When he hears the rumbling of the door opening he is half convinced it is only his over-cold mind playing tricks but then he hears footsteps and grudgingly unburies his face from where he had been shielding it against his knees. His visitor is cloaked but once again it is unmistakably Nori. The main giveaway is the shade of purple of his hood and the ends of a scarf that flap around him and was undoubtably made by Ori, a shade that all the sons of Kori seem to favour. 

“Come on” Nori, gestures towards the door with a careless hand and supports Thorin as he tries to force his icy joints to move. The air inside the mountain feels blessedly warm and it is only when he starts shivering that he realises that he had stopped at all. 

Nori closes and locks the door with his own copy of the key, though where he had obtained it Thorin does not question. Once the door is closed Nori pushes back his hood and unwraps the scarf from around his face. He then takes two steps closer and decks Thorin in the face. Thorin rocks back a little unsteadily but remains on his feet. The punch hadn’t been intended to knock him down. 

“What are you thinking, Thorin?” Nori hisses viciously “Between those plotting against you and your own carelessness you’re going you’ll wind up dead within the month! Is this what you want?!” 

Thorin is stunned by the cold and the unexpected blow to the face and doesn’t reply immediately which Nori seems to take for reticence. Nori snarls and grabs his collar roughly “Is it? Because if it is then I can save everyone a lot of bother right now” A knife appears in his hand with a flourish. 

“That will not be necessary.” Thorin pushes the hand holding the knife away with a frown “Thank you for aiding me again, Nori. I will endeavour to be more careful in future.” 

“You’d better.” Nori releases Thorin and returns the knife to wherever it had come. “You know” he says slyly, his fury gone as quickly as it had appeared “You could make everyone’s life easier in situations like this and appoint a spymaster.” 

“And how do you know I haven’t already?” Thorin asked, an eyebrow raised. 

Nori’s smile widens “Ha! That’s a good one!” he laughs “Both of us know there isn’t a dwarf in this mountain or outside it that could do the job better.” 

Thorin sighs to hide any trace of the smile that is threatening to break through “And as I suspected you’ve already appointed yourself!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Dis returns to Erebor. Not sure when this'll be done as I have an unfinished section in the next chapter (writing conflict is hard!) and the chapter after that is barely written because it's giving me A LOT of problems but I shall do my best! :)) 
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed and see yous all when I next reemerge from my burrow!

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for attempted murder, some description of serious injuries, vomiting.
> 
> If you enjoyed please leave a comment :)) Hope everyone has a good day!


End file.
